


Smoke Sapphire

by Thorinsmut



Series: Smoke Sapphire [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (not graphic but briefly discussed), Complete, Explicit Consent, Fluff, Happy Ending, Kissing, Loneliness, Longing, M/M, Masturbation, Mourning, Nori is a Little Shit, Past Rape/Non-con, Politics, Post book-canon, Slow Build, Smut, Snuggling, Starts sad, Voyeurism, abuse recovery, because gold sickness sucks, differing social mores, past abusive relationship, tags added as needed, the idea of soulmates is creepy, there are obstacles in the way of true love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 47,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sapphires are evaluated based upon the purity of their primary hue. Gray reduces the saturation or brightness of the hue and therefore, has a distinctly negative effect.</i>
</p><p>After the events of the Hobbit, Bilbo returns to the Shire alone and heartbroken.<br/>but he won't stay that way forever.</p><p>Bofur fell in love with Bilbo the moment he fell through his doorway, but Bilbo never had eyes for anyone but Thorin.<br/>years after the BOFA, maybe he'll finally have his chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my latest story!  
> I've been wanting to write this one for a long time.  
> This story will start out sad, but will eventually get happy.  
> I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!  
> <3, Ts

Bilbo Baggins went home.

When everything was over Bilbo went home, and he sat in his armchair by the fire, surrounded by his books.

He went home to a house that was so breathlessly still and silent he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

When everything was over, even though it had not gone how it was supposed to _at all,_ Bilbo Baggins went home, and he did not look back.

There was nothing left to look back on.

Bilbo went home, because home in the Shire was where a Hobbit belonged.

Bilbo went home because what else was there to do, now?

He went home because there was no reason not to... not anymore...

Bilbo Baggins went home, alone.

He'd always been alone, before, so that would be alright.

He would get used to it again eventually... wouldn't he?

He'd had his adventure and now he would settle down and be a respectable bachelor Hobbit with a beautiful garden and a full pantry and an empty Smial filled with the silent friends in his books.

There was no danger, there were no laughing boys to juggle his dishes, no one to raid his pantry... no King to sing low in the night to fill his heart with borrowed courage and fire...

There never would be again.

Bilbo sat very still in his favorite armchair by the fire, surrounded by his books, his newly scarred knuckles turning white with the strength of his grip on the armrests, his eyes distant and dry and the thudding heartbeat in his ears the only sound.

Bilbo Baggins went home.

What else was there to do, anymore?


	2. north

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur's perspective on this mess.

Bofur gnawed on a thumbnail and _didn't_ look north. He did not.

He looked at the campfire instead and he _didn't_ look north.

They'd left the north-south road after crossing the Brandywine, heading south-west to the Blue Mountains and the city of Nurgathol.

They were not _so_ far from the Shire, but it was out of the way and they didn't want to lose time to make the detour north to Hobbiton, to the Hill, to Bag End sitting in the top of the Hill, and one certain Hobbit who lived there.

They weren't going there, and it had been _years_ since the one time Bofur had been, but he could _feel_ the way in his boots. He couldn't really explain it, other than that it was like being under the mountains and knowing the stone's pathways. Any Dwarf could do _that,_ but he'd never heard of anyone who could do it aboveground, or in rich soil instead of solid stone, but ever since they'd crossed the Brandywine he could _feel_ Bag End in his boots, tugging on him.

He didn't say anything to the others. They didn't want to hear of it, they already disapproved enough. Bombur was starting a stew over the fire, his own eyes traveling forever toward the Blue Mountains. He was antsy to get to Nurgathol to see Mirra and their little ones, so ready to finally see them again and bring them to their new home in Erebor.

Dwalin and Nori were sitting quietly for once, Nori idly combing his fingers through Dwalin's beard, a leg thrown possessively across the big warrior's lap. Dwalin was coming with them to talk to Lady Dis on King Dain's orders, and to collect his daughter Maylin who elected to stay with Lady Dis and the young princess Leis instead of coming to Erebor in the caravan with Gloin's son Gimli and wife Nirma. Lady Dis had of course been offered the crown of Erebor, King Dain more than willing to abdicate back to the Iron Hills for her, but she'd not offered any sort of answer yet.

Nori... _who knew_ why Nori was along, other than because he liked Dwalin. It was as possible he'd been given a secret assignment by King Dain as it was that he'd committed some crime and wanted to leave Erebor for a little while to escape being caught, or that he wanted to commit some crime in the Blue Mountains – maybe a combination of all three was most likely.

Bofur gnawed on his thumbnail and did _not_ look north toward Bag End.

Bofur was along because he couldn't _not_ take the opportunity to travel west, to possibly have the chance to see one certain Hobbit again, small as that chance was. Officially, he was there to help Bombur and to see how Erebor could best help any Dwarves who wanted to relocate there.

But all he wanted in the world was tugging his boots north, to a cozy hole in the ground and the one extraordinary Hobbit who lived there.

They weren't going there, though. Maybe there would be time on the trip back.

Bofur found his eyes gazing north toward soft round hills and forced them back forward to the fire. His thumbnail was chewed all the way down so he switched to another finger before he accidentally made himself bleed.

It had started with... how _had_ it started?

Maybe it started with the most beautiful eyes Bofur had ever seen.

He'd mined sapphire once - he'd mined most everything but mithril at least once – but he'd mined sapphire once. It had been a small vein worked by just a few miners, and nothing too valuable expected of it. The stones it yielded were too gray, smoke sapphires instead of the clear blue ones that got the best prices, but they were enough to put a little extra on the family's table. They were just little smoke sapphires, pale and gray most of them, but Bofur had been lucky enough to find a big one. It was dark, a dark dark blue with a heavy dose of smoke in it.

The gray smoke reduced its value, but with its size and the depth of its color, it was _still_ worth more than Bofur had ever seen in his young life.

It had paid for clothes and tools and equipment that the family had sorely needed but never been able to afford.

That dark gray-blue was the most beautiful thing Bofur had ever seen, that rough smoke sapphire his standard for beauty until the moment he looked up from the bottom of a pile of Dwarves and saw the same color in a Hobbit's eyes, and none the treasures of Erebor could compete with _them_ for beauty.

Maybe it started before that, with the cutest set of furry toes Bofur had ever seen, enough to distract him from being squished on the doormat under a pile of Dwarves, before he looked up and saw those eyes.

Maybe it started before even that, with a perfect cheerful round door after a day of riding through beautiful round hills, and laughing at the aggravated voice coming to open it.

Or maybe not, maybe it started later, seeing the Hobbit fluttering through his home so flustered by all of them and yet not backing down – daring to berate a wizard to his face even.

However it started, it ended with a King, and Bofur did _not_ look north.

It ended with a King, and the smoke-sapphire eyes that had only just become the standard of all that was beautiful in the world turning toward _him_ instead of Bofur.

It ended with Bilbo following the King and hanging on Thorin's every word and taking them to heart even when they were cruel. It ended with Bofur trying to protect Bilbo, and always seeming to fail. It ended with Thorin finally noticing Bilbo when the Hobbit risked his life for him, and with Bofur doing his best to be happy for them both.

Bofur had lost, he'd never even been a player to Bilbo, and he'd remained the Hobbit's friend. Bilbo had made his choice.

It had ended with a King, and with tears.

It had ended in gold and madness and Bofur finding Bilbo hurt and frightened and hiding from the one he _still_ loved despite everything. It had ended with Bofur trying to protect Bilbo from Thorin, and failing in that too.

It had ended with Bilbo sent away in disgrace and those perfect smoke-sapphire eyes _still_ looking up at Thorin with hope, and receiving nothing but cold disdain in return.

It had ended in blood and battle, with Bilbo holding the dying King's hand to the end, when he was _himself_ again.

It had ended with tears, Bilbo stumbling blindly out of the dead King's tent and into Bofur's arms to sob himself dry. The first and final time Bofur held the endlessly brave and clever Hobbit who meant the world to him, he was crying for the King he'd forgiven over and over, no matter how harsh his actions or how cruel his words.

It ended with Bilbo leaving without a glance behind, to return home to the Shire and Bag End and Bofur _did not_ look north toward it.

It ended and was long over now. Bilbo had made his choice. He loved Thorin as he'd never loved Bofur, and a Dwarf _respects_ that choice.

Bilbo was mourning his One and it would be wrong for Bofur to look for anything from him.

Even _if_ he could feel the path to Bag End in his boots.

They were traveling to Nurgathol, where Bofur was going to help Bombur wrap everything up to move Mirra and the little ones to Erebor, and see what Erebor might be able to do to help anyone who wanted to relocate there.

But maybe...

Bofur's eyes traveled north again – and he was up, grabbing the pack of his things that he'd somehow packed separate from everyone else's stuff and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Bofur...” Bombur didn't need anything more than a single word to convey his worry.

“I'll catch up with you in a couple days.” Bofur promised, “I just want to _see_ him...”

“He made his choice.” Dwalin rumbled disapprovingly, anything more he would have said cut off by Nori's fingers across his lips, the thief's shrewd eyes weighing Bofur.

“Just as a friend.” Bofur promised, “I was his best friend and... I'll catch back up in a couple days.”

“There's no such thing as a One.” Nori said quietly, Dwalin's eyelids twitching slightly in what might have been a flinch but Nori was still looking at Bofur and couldn't have seen it, “Not even among Dwarves. It's just a _myth_ , and he's _not_ a Dwarf. Take your chance.”

That was just Nori, who's mother had never married and had three sons by three different fathers. It wasn't really.... but it _was_ true that Bilbo wasn't a Dwarf...

No, no, he couldn't get his hopes up. He'd just go visit Bilbo as a friend, just to see him one last time, just for a _little_ while.

“It'll be dark soon. You'll get lost.” Bombur argued.

Bofur laughed. The fall sun _was_ setting, but he couldn't get lost on the way to Bag End if he _tried_.

“I can _feel_ it in my boots.” He confessed quietly to his brother as he stretched out the kinks of a long day's travel to go just a few hours further to the only place he wanted to be.

“Just a couple days.” He promised, heading out of camp, north where his boots pointed him.

“See you in the spring!” Nori called after him.

Bofur flashed a rude sign he knew Nori caught by his laughter as he hiked away, his boots pulling him forward _fast_.

North to Hobbiton, to the Hill, to Bag End sitting in the top of the Hill, and one certain brave Hobbit who lived there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed a name for a city in the Blue mountains so I borrowed from Tolkien Gateway’s description of the ancient city of Belegost, which says:   
>  Belegost (beleg + ost) was a Sindarin translation of the original Dwarvish name Gabilgathol and both mean “Great City”…   
>  The city’s Khuzdul name Gabilgathol contains the elements gabil “great” and gathol “fortress”   
>  Supposing the Dwarves resettling the Blue Mountains would want to keep a link to the lost city of Gabilgathol, I poked around in the NeoKhuzdul Dictionary to find that New is listed as Nur.    
>  Nurgathol - newfortress, built in the ruins of Gabilgathol the greatfortress.
> 
>  
> 
> Now with adorable art by the lovely Sparkle:  
> http://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/post/68725393900/quick-doodle-of-bofur-falling-in-love-on-first
> 
> Mirra and Nirma's names were shamelessly stolen from charliechick117


	3. knock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur arrives at Bag End

Bilbo jumped when there was a knock on the door, shocking him out of his dazed stupor.

He put down the book he'd not turned a page on in an hour, and the full cup of tea that was long cold, and straightened his dressing gown as he stood – surprised at how stiff he'd gotten. He'd only sat down by the fire for just a moment after a light dinner, before supper... though if he were being honest with himself most days he didn't manage to make both, and today wasn't seeming like a day he _would_.

He was getting _better_ , over the years, but most days cooking more than three or four meals just seemed like _work_. It had been the same after his parents died, the _first_ time he had to get used to being all alone. You just had to _carry on_ until it stopped being an act and became your _life_.

The door, though.

Who on _earth_ would come calling so late?

Bilbo braced himself before he opened the door. If he had to find _one more_ excuse to get rid of Lobelia Bracegirdle when she had a mind to come calling at inconvenient times – and it was _always_ an inconvenient time for Lobelia to come calling.

Even if he _were_ interested in marrying, he wouldn't be interested in marrying _her_ , he was sure.

He had a polite smile and an excuse ready when he opened the door, only to be stopped cold in surprise.

Not Lobelia, thank the Green Lady. He opened the door to a ridiculous floppy-eared hat and swooping mustache and braids, boots and a mining mattock and a big, heavy looking pack – a Dwarf ducking a little with a sheepish expression on his face as his eyes smiled at Bilbo.

“Bofur!” of all the people he'd never expected to see... he sometimes got letters from Balin but none of the rest of the Company had kept in touch.

“Come in! Come in!” Bilbo had reached out to grab Bofur's hands, warm in their cozy mitts despite the chill in the night air, tugging him through the door, “You're _just_ in time for supper! How many are with you?” He asked, leaning out the door to search the dark for however many friends Bofur had brought with him – it wouldn't do _at all_ not to give a good welcome and serve a proper supper to the companions of such a good friend. Good dependable Bofur, who'd stuck with him when... when everything went so _wrong_...

“It's just me.” Bofur said, and Bilbo closed the door on the night, turning to the Dwarf with a smile on his face that felt _real_.

He hadn't changed a bit, still those same laughing/sad eyes, same old battered hat, his clothes seemed to be a little better quality now, but still simple plain things.

…Bilbo wasn't going to be _alone_ this evening. This evening he would be spending with someone who understood, someone who _knew_.

It wasn't going to be another evening of listening to the silence of an empty home.

“Off with your boots.” Bilbo instructed, “No tracking mud through my carpets _this_ time!” and Bofur laughed as he kicked his boots off, setting his mattock to the side and his pack with it while Bilbo took his cloak and hung it on a hook.

“Come on then, pantry's this way, you didn't have any trouble finding it _last_ time.” Bilbo said, scooping up his cold tea cup and depositing it in the sink to be washed along the way.

“So, what brings you to the Shire?” he asked, looking through the pantry for some supper, suddenly feeling _hungry_. How had he thought that skipping a meal would be ok?

Ah, here was some white-bean-and-ham soup that just needed to be warmed up, and some good crusty bread and butter to go with it. Bilbo handed it to Bofur while he continued looking.

“We were just passing by and I thought I'd swing north to see you, since we were nearby.” Bofur answered.

Bilbo poured two mugs of good brown ale, leading Bofur to the table with cheese and crackers and some roasted vegetables that would be good cold to snack on while the soup heated up.

“Who's _we_.” Bilbo asked, stirring the kitchen fire up. He set the soup to warming on top of it and settled in beside Bofur at the table.

They ate together, so much better than eating alone, or when he couldn't take the quiet of empty Bag End any more, somehow even _more_ alone in the crowds at the Green Dragon where they thought he was cracked for having gone off to have an adventure – and he was, he was cracked clean through and he couldn't even _tell_ them. They didn't believe any of his stories anyway.

Bilbo ate with Bofur, and found himself _laughing_ as he was told about the pranks Bombur _always_ fell for, and the nonsense Nori got up to and how frustrated it made Dwalin as they traveled back west together, back to the Blue Mountains for Bombur to gather his family up.

They ate up the cheese and crackers and the roasted vegetables, and the soup and bread, and then they raided the pantry again for ham and potatoes and more ale.

When they were finally full, they settled in comfortable chairs by the fire to keep talking.

They talked so long – Bofur telling funny stories about all the Company – that they got hungry again, and they had tea and the little lemon cakes Bilbo had been saving for first breakfast as a late night snack instead.

So of course Bilbo had to make up some sweet dough so they could have fresh baked goods for breakfast in the morning.

He was kneading the soft buttery dough when something Bofur said finally broke through and he stopped. He'd mentioned a few times, but Bilbo had just assumed he was misunderstanding...

“Maylin.” Bilbo said, and Bofur nodded with a smile and cake crumbs in his beard.

“Aye, Dwalin's young Maylin.” Bofur answered, “He's as proud of her as Gloin is his Gimli, she's about that same age too, though he's much quieter about it, thank the Forges.”

That's what he'd _though_ Bofur was implying.

“Dwalin's _married_?” Bilbo asked incredulously. That... that just didn't make _sense_. Dwarves seemed to put a heavy emphasis on fidelity and loyalty, Dwalin more than most, and Dwalin and Nori were all over each other _constantly,_ with no regard for privacy or propriety _._ In fact, catching Dwalin pinning Nori to a wall – one of Nori's ankles around the tattooed Dwarf's neck, his other leg wrapped tight around his waist as they ground their bodies together, Nori whining with pleasure as Dwalin sucked a bruise into his neck – had been Bilbo's rather surprising introduction to the idea that two men _could_. Thanks to them, he'd had enough time to think over the idea that he didn't hesitate when he was approached by Thori...

Bilbo closed his eyes and pressed his hands firmly against the countertop, bracing himself.

But Bofur was talking, his cheerful voice a thread for Bilbo to grab hold of and pull himself out of the downward spiral of 'should have done' recriminations.

“...probably _never_ marry, unless Nori decides he believes in love after all. No, Dwalin found a dam to bear an heir for his and Balin's line, it's common enough among the nobs. Maylin still has contact with her dam's family, but she belongs to Dwalin's line. Never met her, myself, but Dwalin says she's fine with axe or sword and great friends with Lady Dis' young daughter Leis. He'd thought she'd come to Erebor with young Gimli, but she decided to stay with her other cousin and Lady Dis instead, with them in mourning still. Speaks well of her, I think...”

Bofur's voice wandered on, and when Bilbo opened his eyes again the friendly miner was watching him, giving him a relieved smile that Bilbo was able to answer weakly.

Bofur _knew_. Bilbo didn't have to _pretend_ for Bofur, didn't have to pretend that he was just fine, that he wasn't hurt and heartbroken.

Even if he'd been able to explain it, who in the Shire could understand a war? Who would understand not having been _enough_ to save someone? Who would understand loving someone who was so much _more_ than you were, loving them with the terrified intensity of not being sure you would survive, loving them despite everything and willing to die for them, and watching them die instead? Who would understand, even if they _had_ been able to understand that two men were able to love each other that way?

But Bofur _knew_ already. He'd been there, supporting Bilbo when everything went wrong.

Bilbo didn't have to pretend for him, didn't have to make some sort of excuse to cover for why he'd suddenly been sad.

He probably would have hugged Bofur the way he had _afterward_ , but he was all covered in flour. He started kneading the dough again, and Bofur relaxed.

“F-Fili and Kili had a sister?” Bilbo asked, his voice almost steady. Bofur told him what he knew of the young princess – though he hadn't ever met _her_ either – and from there they found their way into other paths of conversation that didn't hurt, until they were both yawning and nodding where they sat.

He settled Bofur comfortably in the guest bedroom and went to bed himself.

Somehow, just having _one_ other person in Bag End changed the entire _feel_ of the place, chased out all the cold silence to make it warm. Just barely audible through the thick walls of the smial Bilbo could hear Bofur's snores starting, and he smiled into his pillow at the memories of how aggravating he'd found the Dwarves' snoring in the beginning of the quest – and how badly he'd missed it since.

He listened to the even snores, proof that he wasn't alone.

In the morning he would make big breakfasts and have someone to _share_ them with, and he planned a feast's worth of dishes as he drifted off.

Somewhere on the hazy edges of sleep he realized that Bofur never _had_ mentioned how long he was planning on staying.

But that didn't matter. Bilbo would just keep him as long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maylin's name was shamelessly stolen from MarieJacquelyn  
> (or, more accurately, borrowed with permission)


	4. Tolman's cow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur plans to leave Bag End. He really does.

Bofur woke up in a cozy-soft bed with the warm morning light shining in through a round window,

He woke up to the most delicious smells of bread and spice and the sound of a Hobbit quietly singing. Bilbo didn't have the _best_ voice, a touch thready on the higher notes, but Bofur could not imagine a better sound to wake up to.

He snuggled down warmer in the soft blankets.

He'd nearly chickened out, the night before. His boots led him unerringly to Bilbo's doorstep, but he'd hesitated for long minutes before he could bring himself to knock.

It had been years, and Bilbo _had_ been the one to leave the Company without looking back, maybe he wouldn't _want_ the reminder of what he'd left.

His doubts all flew the moment he saw Bilbo, when the Hobbit pulled him into Bag End with the biggest smile and fed him to bursting.

Bilbo soaked up his stories like they were water and he was dying of thirst, pulled him into his home like he'd been _waiting_ for him, and Bofur had almost let himself _hope_ when something reminded Bilbo of Thorin.

Bofur wasn't even sure _what_ it was that reminded him, but Bilbo's perfect eyes had gone wide before they closed, his shoulders curling in like he was hiding a chest wound as he braced himself on the counter.

Bilbo was in mourning still, and Bofur just wanted to wrap him up tight, to keep him safe. All he'd been able to do was keep talking, nattering on until Bilbo came back from whatever memory had seized him.

Bilbo was in mourning, and Bofur ought to catch back up to his group before they got too far ahead of him. He'd come and seen Bilbo, who seemed to be doing as well as could be expected, and that would have to be enough.

That decided, Bofur braced himself and threw off the warm blankets, dressing himself for the day. There was a certain _amazing_ smell he had to investigate first though, before he left.

“Good morning!” Bilbo smiled at him when he wandered into the kitchen, smoke sapphire eyes sparkling at him and his cheeks rosy. He looked bright and cheerful and well rested, he'd looked _tired_ the night before, but it _had_ been late by the time Bofur turned up. He was dressed smartly in his Hobbity clothes, his trousers held up by blue braces over a white shirt, and even his messy curly hair seemed cheerful this morning.

“g'morning.” he answered, “it smells great.”

“You're just in time for first breakfast.” Bilbo said, turning to cut thick slices off a pretty braided loaf while he waved him to the chair he'd sat in the night before.

The bread was sweet and tender, filled with a deliciously spiced pumpkin filling, and Bilbo served it up with steaming cups of tea.

Bilbo had more questions about the Company, which Bofur tried to answer as well as he could, feeling warmth in his belly every time something he said made Bilbo laugh.

After breakfast Bilbo lent him some new harvest Old Toby pipeweed, which he claimed was the _very best,_ with Longbottom Leaf a close second. They sat out on a little bench in the morning sunlight and had a quiet smoke, just warm and full and _comfortable_ together.

Then Bilbo led him on a walk across his property, which was larger than Bofur would have expected. They ran into a few other Hobbits, and Bilbo introduced 'my good friend Bofur' to them all. Bofur smiled and tried to be friendly but they all seemed a bit wary of him.

Bilbo got half a dozen eggs from an older Hobbit woman, and they walked back to Bag End where Bilbo set about making _second_ breakfast – a hot fluffy cheese souffle, and crispy panfried potatoes, and bacon and sausages and tomatoes.

Bilbo told him stories about things that were going on in the Shire while they did dishes together, and then they had an 'elevensies' that Bifur would have loved because it was all crisp raw vegetables and lots of green things and fruit. Then he showed Bofur through his house and told him stories about the ancestors who'd owned this or that thing in it.

Bag End had so much of Bilbo's _history_ in it, no wonder he'd been so eager to return to it. It was almost like how the Dwarves of Erebor had wanted to return to the Mountain for their history almost more than for their gold.

He didn't mention that to Bilbo though, because that would probably bring up bad memories for him.

Then they had luncheon and went for another walk, this time down to the market for ingredients for their dinner and supper. Bilbo dressed up in a waistcoat and jacket and neckerchief and looked very dapper, while Bofur just had his travel clothes. Bofur _was_ looked at a bit strangely, but Bilbo introduced him to more Hobbits than he'd _ever_ be able to keep track of the names of as though it were completely normal. Bilbo cheerfully filled a basket with things from this or that farmer, stopping to visit a bit with most of them about how their crops were doing this fall. Most of the conversation went well over Bofur's head, since he didn't know the first thing about soils and interplanting and cover crops and bushels per acre.

Bofur took the basket from Bilbo when it looked like it was getting heavy, to keep himself busy and useful. Bilbo seemed slightly startled by the gesture, but then smiled and patted his arm and went back to his conversation.

Bilbo also seemed to be making arrangements for large amounts of food to be delivered to Bag End for the winter, haggling away with various farmers.

They got back in time for tea, which they had up on top of Bag End because it was warm and sunny out, eating some sweet scones Bilbo had purchased at market.

Then Bilbo had Bofur help him make dinner, a fish pie with the two pretty fish he'd gotten at market.

They sat cozy by the fire and talked more after dinner, Bofur brought his flute out and played a few tunes, and Bilbo was easily prodded into singing a few Hobbit songs that Bofur then accompanied him on, because he'd always been quick at picking a tune up.

Supper was smaller than the night before, soup and crackers, and they went to their beds earlier than they had the night before. As Bofur settled into his comfortable guest bed, he realized that he hadn't even _mentioned_ that he ought to be leaving. Every time he thought about it, Bilbo had been there smiling up at him, and when Bilbo said “Let's go...” Bofur went and did what Bilbo wanted instead of telling him he had to be off.

He didn't even feel bad about it. It had been a wonderful day, though if he _kept_ eating like a Hobbit he'd soon be rounder than Bombur.

That wasn't going to happen, though. Bofur would be leaving in the morning, first thing after first breakfast. He'd seen that Bilbo was doing alright for himself, as well as he _could_ be when still the smallest things would make his face fall and his eyes grow distant with grief. Every time he did it Bofur just wanted to grab him and hold him, to make it better, to make it _stop,_ but he couldn't. All he could do was _talk_ and he didn't even know if it _helped._ Bilbo was still in mourning for Thorin, and Bofur never _was_ going to be anything but a friend to him.

He would be leaving in the morning. He had responsibilities in the Blue Mountains, things he'd been sent to take care of.

Even if leaving Bilbo and cozy Bag End behind was the _last_ thing he wanted to do.

 

The next morning, after a wonderful first breakfast, they sat out on the the bench having a friendly argument about various pipeweed varieties. Bofur _liked_ the Hobbit varieties well enough, but they didn't have the _bite_ of a good Dwarven pipeweed.

Bilbo argued that bite was a _bad_ thing in a pipeweed, that smooth and mellow was the way to go.

He'd managed to get Bilbo to laugh again, dark gray-blue eyes sparkling as he coughed on his pipe smoke, when Bofur mentioned that he'd be leaving.

Bilbo went very still, looking out over the soft round hills of the Shire.

“Of course.” he said softly, giving Bofur the corner of a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. Bilbo drooped, looking _tired_ like he had when Bofur first showed up on his doorstep, and Bofur wished more than anything that he could take the words back and _never_ say them, never have to _leave_.

“Bilbo...” He started, and what was he going to _say_? What _could_ he say?

A group of Hobbits came running up the hill, a younger one pausing.

“Old Tolman's cow fell into his root cellar, so I can't make it today Mr. Bilbo.” he said breathlessly, “We've got to dig her out!”

“I'll see you next week then, Ham. Good luck!” Bilbo answered, shooing him on, and Bofur was up before he'd finished thinking, his voice always working faster than his brain.

“I'll help!” In a few quick steps he'd grabbed up his mining mattock from beside Bilbo's front door, turning to smile at the stunned Hobbits. “I'm strong and I can dig.” he said, and after blinking at each other for a moment one of the older Hobbits nodded.

“Come on then.” He said, and Bofur just had a chance to turn and give Bilbo a big smile before he ran off behind the light-footed Hobbits, Bilbo looking as surprised at Bofur's actions as Bofur was himself.

...but if he was working, he didn't have to _leave_.

The cow was bellowing plaintively from a hole in the ground, and Hobbits were gathered around. They'd already begun digging in around the doorway to widen it so they could lead her out. Bofur found a convenient spot and joined in. The Hobbits edged away from him a bit, but that just gave him more room to work. He introduced himself with a smile all around and kept on working. It was easy digging, in soft dirt, and his speed seemed to have inspired a few of the younger Hobbits who seemed to see it as a competition.

“You know, I thought I'd mined for just about everything in my day.” Bofur commented, “But I've never mined for _cow_ before. That's rare ore, right there!” He chuckled at his own joke, but he was the only one.

A shame, that. It had been a good one. He kept his mouth shut while he worked, following the directions of the older Hobbits who seemed to be in charge. He switched his mattock for a shovel when someone took a break. It was just a touch smaller than he'd have liked, but more efficient for this kind of digging.

“So... you're a miner?” One of the young digging Hobbits asked eventually.

“Aye.” Bofur smiled, “Miner, tinker, and beer drinker, that's me!”

“So you're not one of the Dwarves who went with Mr. Bilbo on his _adventure_.” Another asked, and Bofur did _not_ like the derisive emphasis on the word 'adventure' or how the other Hobbits around had groaned and rolled their eyes.

“I was with him.” Bofur said, quietly, not pausing in his digging. “I was with him through trolls and wargs and goblins, spiders and dungeons, fire and war.”

There was a quiet around them now, just the sounds of the shovels and the tired huffing of the trapped cow.

“That sounds _terrible_.” One of them finally said.

“It really was.” Bofur laughed, switching back to his mattock to loosen a big rock, then picking it up and heaving it out of the pit before going back to the shovel. “We all would have died a dozen times without our brave Bilbo... the best of us died anyway.”

Fili and Kili so bright, so vibrant, far too young... and Thorin, Bofur would _never_ be able to forgive him for what he'd done in his madness, but he could still mourn the King he could have been if it had not claimed him. He could see Bilbo's sorrow, and wish he could bring Thorin back for him. He would gladly give up whatever tiny chance he might someday have with him to see Bilbo as happy again as he'd been before everything went wrong.

“People _died_?” someone asked, their tone horrified.

“He didn't tell you that bit?” Bofur asked, giving a shrug and tossing another big shovelful of dirt into the pile. “Well. I can't say I blame him. I'd like to forget about it myself sometimes.”

“Well then, we'll talk about other things.” a very round Hobbit lass decided firmly, “How are the potatoes on Mr. Bilbo's side of the Hill this year, Ham?”

The young Hobbit who'd stopped to talk to Bilbo, shoveling near Bofur, turned bright red to the tips of his ears.

“V-very good, Miss Bell.” he stammered.

“How did those yellow potatoes you were trying yield for you?” Someone else asked, and the conversation went to agriculture, which Bofur had nothing to say about.

He kept digging as everything they said sailed well over his head.

Bofur brushed off the offer of a second breakfast, enjoying the rhythmic physicality of digging, making a neatly sloped entrance to the collapsed root cellar. It felt good to do _real_ work, after traveling so long, and lazing about eating the whole day before, even if he was digging in soil instead of good rock.

He tried to brush elevensies off too, but Bilbo had showed up with a basket and gave him a _look_ , so he climbed out of the growing hole to join him.

“You look happy.” Bilbo commented, and Bofur grinned as he flopped out on the dry grass in the sun.

“I like working.” He said.

“Well I'm glad you stopped, or I would have had to start pelting you with the eggs.” Bilbo said, taking some hard-boiled eggs out of his basket, and apples and cheese, which Bofur was more than happy to help him eat before getting back to work.

When luncheon rolled around they were _so close_ to getting the cow out that Bofur really couldn't bring himself to stop. Bilbo called him a stubborn Dwarf and threw a roll at his head, but he managed to catch it before it bounced off onto the ground, and it was delicious, so that was a win.

Bilbo laughed at him too, which was an even bigger win.

Soon enough they got down to where they needed to be, clearing the soil back from the dryset stone wall.

“That's nice work.” Bofur said, running a hand across the wall, “Seems a shame to take it down.”

A Hobbit matron sighed from up above the pit, “My great-grandfather put that in.” she said mournfully, “But we've _got_ to get the cow out.”

“Be a long day's work putting it back.” Bofur said, carefully prying the first rock out and tossing it carefully out of the pit – he wouldn't like to accidentally hit any Hobbits with it, especially some of the little tiny ones he'd seen creeping around to stare at him and squeaking when they noticed him notice them. He'd tossed a few out when someone suggested they pass the rocks from hand to hand out of the pit – so he did that instead, the Hobbits forming a few chains and passing the rocks out while Bofur and a few of the stronger Hobbits worked on dismantling the wall.

It wasn't long before they'd widened the doorway enough to free the cow, Old Tolman chastising her as he led the placid beast out. Bofur wandered into the root cellar along with most of the Hobbits who'd been digging, but while they were concerned with the damage to the shelves and the food that had been stored, he was more interested in the roof.

It had been built _sturdy_ , but with just a few adjustments, using a few of the techniques they used bracing in mines, they could _easily_ have a roof that would hold a cow's weight and more.

He suggested it, but his hand was being shaken and he was thanked _very politely_ for his help as he was walked out, and it was clear he was being sent on his way now.

He followed the pull of his boots back to Bag End, mattock over his shoulder and whistling a tune. His shoulders ached just a bit from work, in a satisfying kind of way, and all was good in the world.

He was greeted by Bilbo at the door when he got back, which made everything even better. Bilbo shook his head at him, decrying how dirty he'd gotten, and informed him that all his clothes would have to be washed.

“You'll have to wait for them to dry, before you... go...” Bilbo said, his tone going tentative on the end. Bilbo was _never_ supposed to sound unsure, not Bilbo who could riddle with Dragons and distract trolls and talk sense into Elf-kings.

“It would be a late start today anyway.” Bofur said lightly, shaking the worst of the dirt out of his clothes before he stepped through the door.

He was already getting used to taking his boots off as soon as he was inside, and he took all the rest off too, so he wasn't tracking dirt through the house, which looked neat and fresh as though Bilbo had spent his morning cleaning it.

“Bofur!” Bilbo had a hand over his eyes, looking away, “Just... gather those up and follow me.” He said, exasperated, as he gestured vaguely toward the clothes. “You could use a bath anyway. I'll find _something_ for you to wear while your clothes are washed.”

“I have spare longjohns.” Bofur told him, grinning at Bilbo's embarrassment. He'd almost forgotten how flustered Bilbo tended to get when the Dwarves stripped down during the Quest. Bofur wasn't sure what the problem was, really. True he wasn't eighty anymore, but he wasn't _so_ bad to look at, he thought.

He certainly wouldn't mind if Bilbo thought so too... not that he was likely to.

After a good soak, Bofur dressed in his spare longjohns and helped wash his clothes, and then they had tea indoors because Bilbo said Bofur could not be seen dressed like _that_.

It was a quiet afternoon, Bilbo was writing something and Bofur broke out his carving knife and stole a nice branch of firewood. He sat close by the fire, flicking the little curls into the fireplace as he worked. He wasn't carving anything in particular, he'd see what it turned into as he went.

His eyes traveled to Bilbo often, watching him bent studiously over his writing, his curls resting softly on his forehead, those beautiful eyes narrowing in thought as he licked his bottom lip, coming up with _just_ the right word to write down.

Bilbo glanced toward him now and then too, with a small smile, and it could hardly have been more perfect.

Later that evening Mrs. Tolman brought a pear tart over to thank Bofur for helping get the cow out. It was delicious with cream after dinner.

Bofur didn't think he'd ever get tired of sharing an evening smoke with Bilbo, never run out of things to talk to him about, never get tired of making him laugh.

If only he _could_ stay.

He hadn't mentioned leaving again, and after the one time Bilbo hadn't either, but they both _knew_.

It wouldn't last.


	5. reasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur is still trying to leave. No really, he is! Just ask him!

The next morning's first breakfast was a big hearty one of porridge and cream with toast and jelly. They were having a morning smoke out in the sun on the bench, neither of them mentioning that Bofur was leaving, when Old Tolman came by to ask Bofur about what he'd been saying about a stronger roof for the root cellar?

Bofur was happy enough to lean against the fence, demonstrating the technique to the old Hobbit with a few twigs.

Old Tolman hummed curiously, scratching his head.

“Do you think you could come by and teach the boys?” He asked, “If Mr. Bilbo can spare you, of course.”

“Oh, by all means!” Bilbo said, when they both turned to him, but his eyes were smiling at Bofur, a little sparkle in the gray-blue depths.

He probably shouldn't. He ought to go catch up to Bombur and Nori and Dwalin before they got too far ahead of him, but the cow could have been seriously injured falling into the root cellar! And they'd lost a good deal of food because of it, and that just wasn't right.

One more day wasn't _so_ much longer.

Bofur grabbed his mattock, just in case, and said goodbye to Bilbo, asking him to bring a luncheon if he wasn't back by then.

“No second breakfast or elevensies?” Bilbo asked, but Bofur waved it off.

“I had a big breakfast.” He said, and followed Old Tolman back to his root cellar, where a handful of Hobbits were gathered around discussing the various ways they could repair the roof.

They picked up the idea quickly once Bofur had described it with a few twigs and drawings in the dirt, and got quickly into discussing what materials they would need and how to get them. While they did that, Bofur poked around at the dryset stone wall. It looked like someone had started to try to put it back together, but didn't know what they were doing. Bofur shook his head as he rearranged the stones solidly, slowly building the wall back up strong enough to last at least a few centuries. It was the best he could do with the materials on hand. He'd really like to build it with solid blocks hewn from a mountain so it could last generations, but that wasn't an option.

Mrs. Tolman, the Hobbit matron who'd said her great-grandfather built it, noticed him working on the wall and called Young Tolman over to help him.

“None of us know the trick of the stone walls like that.” She said, getting Young Tolman to bring rocks to Bofur, “No one wanted to learn when great-grandfather was still making them.”

Bofur was more than happy to have the young Hobbit's help, and to show him the trick of getting the rocks to settle on each other _just_ so to make a steady wall – though Young Tolman didn't have the advantage of being able to _feel_ the stone settle the way a Dwarf could.

He was a nice enough lad, Young Tolman, the grandson of Old Tolman by way of Mrs. Tolman, as far as Bofur could tell.

Bofur was so engrossed with the wall he didn't notice that it was time for luncheon until Bilbo started threatening to throw food at him, and the various Tolmans were laughing at him, but so was Bilbo so that was a win.

Bilbo came by with tea for him too, and the wall was finished a bit before dinnertime. Bofur felt good as he walked back to Bag End. He hadn't worked in stone for _far_ too long, light work though it had been.

Bilbo wasn't alone when Bofur got back, he was talking with a Hobbit lass dressed very brightly in green and yellow with a big hat, and it _seemed_ like he was blocking the gate intentionally so it couldn't be opened as he talked to her.

“There you are, Bofur!” Bilbo greeted loudly, his smile seeming a little desperate, “As you can see, Lobelia, I have a _guest_ , so if you will excuse us, _good day_.”

The Hobbit lass looked Bofur over, wide-eyed, before she sniffed and primly saw herself away, tossing a handful of flowers she'd been clutching into the bushes as she went.

Bilbo quickly ushered Bofur through the gate, hurrying him into the house and locking the door behind them as if he was afraid of being followed.

“What was _that_ about?” Bofur asked, remembering to take his boots off. He hadn't gotten _so_ dirty today – shaking his clothes out well would probably be enough.

“Lobelia Bracegirdle, most wretched woman in the whole Shire.” Bilbo groaned, peeking out the round window by the door as if to be sure she was _really_ gone. “I usually hide, but she caught me when I was leaving to fetch you for dinner.”

Bofur couldn't help laughing. “You can face down Dragons, but not lasses?” he asked.

“No!” Bilbo shook a finger at Bofur as he stepped away from the window, “ _Smaug_ wasn't trying to court me.”

She was trying to _court_ him? But he'd made his choice and was in mourning, that wasn't _right_...

...and Bofur was just as guilty, wasn't he? At least the Hobbit lass had the excuse of not _knowing_ that Bilbo's One had died, since it didn't seem he'd told the Shire about that part of the quest. Bofur didn't even have _that_ excuse. He _knew_ , and he was still hanging around hoping.

“It's _Bag End_ she wants, not me.” Bilbo was continuing, “You'd think running off on an adventure would make me ineligible, but there's no dissuading _her._ ” He shook his head in disbelief, then smiled up at Bofur, and nevermind how much Bofur treasured that as it hurt deep in his heart.

“I'm glad you were here to rescue me.” he smiled, and Bofur couldn't do anything but bow deeply to cover for himself.

“At your service.” He said grandly, and Bilbo laughed and led him off to a delicious dinner.

 

The next day Bilbo had a wagonload of various vegetables delivered, and by the time Bofur was done helping get it all loaded into his root cellar _just right_ it was a bit late to leave.

Then someones wagon got stuck in a ditch, and by the time Bofur helped get it out his clothes needed washing again, and by the time they were dry it was too late to leave.

Then he spent a few days helping put the sturdy new roof on the Tolman's root cellar, and filling back in around the door.

Then it rained, which Bilbo assured him might turn to sleet or hail at this time of year, so he couldn't travel in that.

Then the rivers were all high for another day, very bad for travel, though neither Bilbo nor Bofur had mentioned Bofur leaving again.

Then young Ham the gardener came by and was saying how far behind he was on Mr. Bilbo's gardens because he'd missed the week before, so Bofur volunteered to help him and Bilbo, just for _one_ day. Bofur didn't know the first thing about gardening, but he could follow directions and fetch and carry for them, so he was at least a _little_ helpful.

Then one of the Overhill lads, a friend of Young Tolman's, broke his arm, and Bofur spent a week helping their family get all their harvest in. He didn't know how to use a scythe, and he wasn't nearly as good as the Hobbits were at quickly gathering up squashes or potatoes, but he could easily carry heavy baskets so they came out on top.

Then there was a broken fence he could help cut posts and dig holes for.

Then someone was taking out a big tree stump and wondered if he might help.

Then the Tolmans and Ham Gamgee invited him to a work party because the Hornblowers needed a new barn to dry their pipeweed in, and a Hobbit work party turned out to be an actual _party_. They did get the work done, though, just with a lot of singing and dancing and eating and drinking too.

Hobbit ale was absolutely marvelous, and once everyone was suitably relaxed Bofur's songs and dances went over very well. There was nothing better than having a laughing audience, especially when that audience included a certain brave burglar. It was much better than the stodgy crowd at the Green Dragon when Bilbo occasionally took him there for dinner instead of cooking at home.

Then it was just a few days until the fall harvest festival, and Bofur really was curious to see what a Hobbit festival was like so he _had_ to stay for that.

He'd never mentioned leaving again, though both he and Bilbo knew that he really _did_ have to go. Bofur woke up every morning knowing he had to go, but his resolve died as he heard Bilbo singing through his house, as he smelled the wonderful foods Bilbo always insisted on feeding him for breakfast, as he found just _one_ more thing he could do to help out around the Shire.

They could talk about almost everything – sometimes late in the evening Bilbo would even want to talk about the quest and Mountain and the battle, though it often made him sad – but they _never_ talked about Bofur leaving. They also didn't talk about the fact that Bofur now had a few sets of Hobbity-style clothes.

First had been a dark brown shirt, plain and sturdy, and trousers to go with it. Bilbo must have taken the measurements off his clothes once while they were being washed, because Bofur was sure no tailor in the Shire knew how to make clothes sized for Dwarves.

Then an off-white shirt with blue and yellow flowers embroidered on it, with braces to go with it, then a dark green shirt, and then a few jackets to go with them. They had all just _appeared_ in Bofur's room – no, not Bofur's room, the _guest_ room – when he was away.

They didn't talk about them, but Bilbo smiled when he saw Bofur wearing them, and it _was_ nice to have more than one set of clothes to wear.

It was just so _comfortable_ to stay in the Shire, to carry Bilbo's market basket for him and to visit with the few Hobbits – a few Tolmans, Overhills, and Gamgees – who were finally starting to warm up to him a little even though he was a Dwarf. The clothes seemed to help, and the fact that he was a good worker probably did too. The littlest ones still squeaked and ran away when they noticed him notice them staring, though.

Bofur needed to go, he knew. He couldn't stay in the Shire forever. He couldn't keep spending his days searching for _any_ excuse to stay and his evenings carving little wooden trinkets by the fire while he talked and laughed with Bilbo. He couldn't keep spending his nights in Bilbo's guest bed playing over the Hobbit's smiles and laughs, those little gestures that made him _him –_ wondering how soft Bilbo's lips might feel, what his skin felt like, the touch of his hands – until he had to bite the back of one hand to keep himself silent as he spent himself into the other.

He _couldn't_ keep doing that. He had to go. It wasn't fair to Bilbo, still in mourning, for Bofur to be hanging around thinking of him that way.

 

Bofur wore the shirt with the embroidery to the fall harvest festival, Bilbo had even lent him one of his own neckerchiefs and tied it for him so he was almost as dapper as a Hobbit. The festival was as he would have expected a Hobbit festival to be, with lots of music and food and ale.

He managed to get Bilbo to dance with him, for just a little while, perfect smoke sapphire eyes smiling at him as he taught Bofur the steps. Of course they were then both grabbed by a few Hobbit lasses to dance as soon as Bofur knew the steps, but they managed to pass them off again quickly and returned to sit together to watch the merriment.

A Hobbit, who was maybe a bit drunker than he should have been so early in the night, accosted Bofur to ask him if he were trying to steal their girls when he went to refill his and Bilbo's tankards.

“It's not your _lasses_ you should be worried about.” Bofur told him, with a conspiratorial wink, leaving the Hobbit scratching his head as he returned to Bilbo.

“You shouldn't do that.” Bilbo told him quietly, “You'll just confuse him. Such things aren't _done_ in the Shire.”

Bofur drank his ale as he thought that over, running an eye across the celebrating Hobbits. There were groups of all lads and all lasses, but the only ones holding hands or kissing were different-kind pairs. He wasn't sure how he hadn't _noticed_ that before.

That just didn't make _sense_.

“But there must be _some_ who..” Bofur started.

“Well if they do, they never speak of it.” Bilbo interrupted, and the sharpness of his tone might have stung if he hadn't gone _sad_ again, gripping his tankard tight as his shoulders curled in.

How _alone_ must he have been, if he not only _didn't_ tell anyone, but didn't even feel like he _could_ if he wanted to?

That wasn't _right_.

Bofur put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tight even though what he really wanted was to hold Bilbo close and never let him go, to sweep him up and carry him off to live with Dwarves who _understood_ these things so he didn't have to be alone, even though Bilbo didn't _want_ to live with Dwarves. He _wanted_ to be in the Shire. Instead Bofur opened his mouth and let his voice run away, babbling about whatever he saw until Bilbo straightened up again and gave him that little smile that said he was ok . He didn't know if his talking actually helped at all, but Bilbo hadn't asked him not to and it was all he could think to do when Bilbo got sad like that.

“The straw figures...” Bilbo said, pointing to what Bofur had mostly been prattling about, “They're the king and queen of the harvest, they're burnt at the end of the festival.”

“Well that's not a very nice way to treat royalty!” Bofur said, “Why do you do that?”

“You know... I don't actually know.” Bilbo said, gazing at the straw figures and then giving Bofur a small smile from the corner of his eye, “I'm sure there was a reason once upon a time. It's just tradition now.”

A new song started, a different dance than the one Bilbo had taught him before, and Bofur made Bilbo teach him the steps to this one too. It was simple enough, but Bofur _might_ have exaggerated his clumsiness a bit to prolong the lesson, and the laughter in Bilbo's eyes _might_ have said he knew what Bofur was doing and found it ridiculous.

They stuck together clear to the end of the festival, when the straw king and queen were set alight to cheering. Quite a few couples were kissing, and Lobelia seemed determined to try to get close to Bilbo. They spotted her in time, though, and together managed to keep Bofur between Bilbo and Lobelia.

Lobelia made a face, and Bilbo mouthed 'thank you' to him, and they went home together.

No, no not _home_ – back to Bag End.

It wasn't _Bofur's_ home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seemed to me that Bofur would have an easier time making friends with 'working class' Hobbits, who would appreciate that he's a good worker.  
> They think he's odd, but not such a bad sort.


	6. winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur... are you _really_ trying to leave? Because you aren't being very successful if you are. 
> 
>  
> 
> This and the two preceding chapters were supposed to be one 2k chapter.  
> It kind of ran away from me.  
> We'll be back to Bilbo's perspective, finally, next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING  
> Nori is a little shit, has no respect for personal space, and gets a bit handsy.  
> It might read a touch assault-ish  
> I'm sorry.  
> I always prefer to warn.

After the fall harvest festival he really _should_ have gone on to the Blue Mountains. Bombur was waiting for him in Nurgathol and he _had_ been sent with responsibilities, but Bilbo had a big stack of firewood delivered for the winter which due to a miscommunication hadn't been split beforehand. After helping stack it all and listening to Bilbo wonder who he could hire to split it for him, Bofur offered to do it.

Bilbo's smile warmed him clear through.

First Bofur had to get a good splitting maul – the biggest he could find in the Shire was too small and light for efficient splitting. He might not be a smith but he _was_ a Dwarf, he knew one end of a forge from another. He borrowed the local blacksmith's little shop for an afternoon and welded a big lump of iron on the back of the maul to bring it up to weight, and put it on a longer and stronger handle.

It took him _days_ to get the wood all split, stripping his nice green shirt off to catch a breeze with the sun warm on his back as he worked.

“Bofur!” Bilbo chided when he caught him at it, “What if someone _sees_?”

“Lucky them!” he answered with a grin, setting another piece of wood on his chopping block.

“ _Dwarves_.” Bilbo groaned, but he was smiling, and Bofur shrugged his shirt back on to sit and eat luncheon with him. It was delicious as always, hearty sandwiches on thick dark bread with layers of cheeses and thin sliced cold meat.

“Is that... have you got a...” Bilbo started, pointing at Bofur's chest before turning a touch pink around the ears and looking pointedly away.

Bofur looked down at his chest, exposed with his unbuttoned shirt, the little gleam of gold that showed through with his hair dampened down with sweat.

“Aye, they're pierced.” Bofur said brightly, “Both sides.”

“ _Why?_ ” Bilbo's tone was incredulous as he squirmed slightly, crossing one arm across his own chest protectively... and the _last_ thing Bofur needed to know was that Bilbo's nipples were sensitive. He already knew it would be featuring in his next fantasy in the night.

Setting that thought firmly aside for now, what _could_ he tell Bilbo about why?

“...don't go out drinking with Nori.” he settled on. It really _was_ Nori's fault, the thief had decided that Bofur needed a night out to cheer up from all his pining for Bilbo – and once Nori decided something it tended to happen, regardless of how anyone else felt about it. The next morning Bofur's chest was decorated with gold, he was more hungover than he'd thought was _possible_ , and he'd very nearly been arrested. Twice. That he could remember.

It _had_ been better than moping at home though, not that he was eager to repeat the experience.

“Nori.... no, I don't want to know how it happened.” Bilbo decided, but his eyes were laughing at Bofur as he ate his sandwich.

“It made sense at the time!” Bofur defended. He was sure it must have or he wouldn't have agreed to it, and he _did_ like how the gold bars looked through his nipples so he kept them, since he'd already gone to the trouble of getting them pierced.

...not to mention the _other_ benefit Nori had very unhelpfully pointed out once they were healed up. He'd suddenly _appeared_ pressed up against Bofur's back, as he so loved to do, and asked if they'd grown more sensitive in a whispered purr as he ran too-clever fingers across Bofur's chest – a surprisingly strong jolt of pleasure running direct from them to his groin.

He'd punched Nori, actually clipping the thief slightly as he spun away laughing, which was closer than most ever got to him. Nori didn't need to know how horribly tempting it had been _not_ to, that Bofur had been untouched long enough that he almost wanted to _let_ Nori – even though Nori _wasn't_ who he wanted and the thief wouldn't have given him more than a tease anyway. Nori might be a shameless flirt but he never gave more than that to anyone who wasn't Dwalin... that Bofur knew of.

“Think how good lips would feel on those now.” Nori had suggested from halfway up a wall, “With just a little bit of _teeth_...” he'd shivered at his own suggestion as he swung himself onto the roof to grin down at Bofur, “I know a nice brothel... have something for every taste...” He'd wheedled.

“Not what I want.” Bofur had told him, and Nori left off bothering him for the moment – still, his very unhelpful suggestions had gotten caught in Bofur's brain and frequently appeared in his night fantasies.

...and now his nipples had pebbled up just from thinking about it, and he needed to stop before _anything else_ got the idea to get hard.

Bofur buttoned his shirt up and grabbed another sandwich to eat as he listened to Bilbo talk about what he was going to make for dinner, his cheeks rosy and his smoke sapphire eyes shining in the sunlight, the most beautiful thing in the world.

 

Snow fell not long after Bofur finished splitting the wood, a thick fluffy layer of white muffling the whole world one morning.

After a big warm breakfast they went out to inspect it, bundled up in warm cloaks, Bilbo's feet and Bofur's boots crunching through the snow as they made sure none of the bushes had broken under the weight – but Ham and Bilbo had done a good job trimming them all down for winter and they were fine, or at least so Bofur was led to believe from Bilbo's comments.

They cleared off the bench and sat down for their morning smoke, at once both Bofur's least favorite and one of his favorite times of day. His favorite because it was so comfortable and homey to sit and have a morning smoke beside Bilbo whenever the weather allowed it, and his least favorite because it was always when he _ought_ to be leaving. His bags were still _mostly_ packed. It would only take a few moments to get them together, to go. The harvest was all over now. There was nothing for Bofur to help with now, no work to use as an excuse to stay.

Bilbo lit his pipe and held the match out to Bofur, who lit his pipe from it.

“You can't go now.” Bilbo said quietly, the first time one of them had mentioned Bofur leaving since the first day he had. “There could be wolves. It's too dangerous.”

“Wolves?” Bofur almost laughed. The thought of wolves in the peaceful Shire...

“I was just a young tween.” Bilbo said, with a little shiver, “The Fell Winter? The Brandywine froze over and we were overrun with white wolves. Winter's a bad time. You could meet with _anything_ between here and the Blue Mountains.”

The Fell Winter, Bofur could remember that well, a bit over thirty years back. The Blue Mountains had had their own problems, but it stung to think of the gentle Shire beset by wolves. He wished he'd been here to protect Bilbo... not that he'd ever done a good job of protecting him when he finally _did_ find Bilbo.

Bilbo looked up at Bofur with true worry in his beautiful dark blue eyes. “You can't go.” he said, and Bofur could have argued that early winter wasn't much more dangerous than any other time of the year, especially if he found a caravan traveling west to join. It was _late_ winter you had to worry about, with wolves and wargs and orcs and brigands all beginning to starve and get desperate.

He could have argued, but he didn't want to, did he?

He _wanted_ to stay, and Bilbo was asking him to, and he _shouldn't_ care so much that Bilbo was worried for his safety but he _did._

Bofur laughed, and he immediately knew it was the wrong response by the way Bilbo bridled, as though he thought Bofur were making fun of him, or calling him a liar.

“No, Bilbo...” Bofur tried to explain, his hand on the Hobbit's arm, “It's not you, it's.... when I left, Nori said he'd see me in spring. I don't want to _think_ about how many wagers he's winning on this.”

Bilbo looked back over at him, his eyes almost pleading, “You _will_ stay?” he asked.

“Aye.” Bofur smiled, “I'd rather not be eaten by wolves, if it's all the same... if you'll have me.”

“Of course!” Bilbo said warmly, a tension seeming to leave him as he leaned back in the bench and took a long drag on his pipe. His arm moved under Bofur's hand, the Hobbit's warm little fingers wrapping around his to squeeze for just a moment before letting him go.

Bofur's shoulder brushed Bilbo's where they sat, just a little, and he couldn't help his smile as he took a drag on his pipe and restarted their endless argument on the qualities of various pipeweeds. Bilbo had stocked up on every variety he could get his hands on _just_ so they could argue about them better.

For a few months, he wouldn't have to worry about leaving.

For a few more months he could stay with Bilbo.


	7. no one's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's thoughts on all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING  
> you see this fic tagged 'past abusive relationship'?  
> we begin to see some of that.  
> there is also someone being triggered.  
> please be warned.

Bilbo _should_ have felt guilty about it.

Bofur was just passing through, there were things he had to do in the Blue Mountains, but after a few days of _not being alone_ , of seeing how easily Bofur was distracted from leaving by the prospect of work...

Bilbo should have felt guilty about it, but he didn't. He'd spread the word around a little that Bofur was a good worker, that being a Dwarf he would be bored without anything to occupy him, and with the harvest all coming in there was no shortage of work that needed to be done.

The Tolmans spread it around without even being asked to, and the Overhills eventually too. There was _something_ every day, and Bofur stayed. Bilbo knew he shouldn't have been encouraging people to ask Bofur for help, but Bofur _seemed_ happy. He really seemed to enjoy working around in the Shire.

It was hard to tell, sometimes, how Bofur felt about _anything_. He smiled when he was happy and he smiled when he was sad, but he seemed to enjoy being in the Shire.

Bofur hadn't _mentioned_ leaving again, but he still had most of his things packed in his bags. Every morning when they had their morning smoke Bilbo wondered if _today_ was the day Bofur left, but every day something came up for him to do. Bilbo didn't know if it was just wishful thinking on his part, but it _seemed_ like Bofur was more relaxed and happy _after_ he'd found something to keep him in the Shire one more day than before.

It was a relief when the snow finally came so Bilbo had a legitimate reason to ask Bofur not to leave, and Bofur agreed with him. The thought of spending another winter alone was... painful. For just one winter he'd tricked Bofur into staying, and he _should_ have felt guilty about that.

Bofur unpacked his bags and they organized up his room so it was _his_ room and not just a guest room he was staying in.

It was _so good_ to have Bofur in Bag End. Bilbo slept better at night without the house being so silent. He ate better with someone else to cook for, and someone who was so vocally appreciative of Bilbo's cooking, too. He broke out his mother's old recipes and made better food than he'd made for himself in years. He didn't get _stuck_ , with Bofur's cheerful voice to follow out whenever he was trapped in the memories of everything that went wrong. He didn't tend to find himself drifting, losing track of hours, with Bofur around to keep him in the moment.

Bofur _knew_ , Bofur _understood_... Bilbo was even able to talk to him about the quest, about the terrible battle, about the Mountain, and talking about it made it sting less.

It ached still, of course it did, he ached clean through – but Bofur made it better.

There was no danger in the Shire, but there was Bofur accidentally scandalizing the neighbors and trying to run around without a shirt on – trying to keep _him_ wrangled was more than enough work for _any_ Hobbit.

There were no laughing boys to juggle his dishes, but there was Bofur who seemed to see it as his own personal challenge to make Bilbo laugh as many times a day as he could, and wasn't afraid to make himself ridiculous to do it.

There was no King to singing low to spark courage into Bilbo's heart in the night, and there never would be again, but there was Bofur sitting by the hearth, carving a line of cheerful little animals to march across the mantlepiece – teaching Bilbo his own songs while he learned the songs Bilbo knew.

...and the fact that he'd taken to the task of keeping Lobelia away from Bilbo with _enthusiasm_ was just the icing on the whole thing.

He'd settled so comfortably into Bilbo's life, he didn't know how he'd managed before Bofur came.

Or, well... he _did_. He'd been carrying on because there wasn't anything else to _do_ , but it was so much better with Bofur staying with him. He did more than just _carry on_ with Bofur.

Bilbo _should_ have felt guilty about keeping Bofur in the Shire when he had responsibilities in the Blue Mountains, but he _didn't._ Maybe it was the burglar in him surfacing again, stealing a Dwarf away just because he was lonely and Bofur made him laugh.

He couldn't remember when he'd last laughed so much.

They had a good routine. Bilbo was usually up a little bit before Bofur was, with enough time to get first breakfast started before Bofur wandered into the kitchen. They ate together, and did the dishes together. They went for walks together.

Sometimes one of the Tolmans or Overhills or Ham Gamgee would fetch Bofur to help with something or other – clearing snow or such. Bilbo went calling, mostly on his own but sometimes with Bofur along if it was to someone the Dwarf had helped out.

Bilbo had a few guests, not as many as might have come calling if he _didn't_ have a Dwarf living in his house, but he found the visits more enjoyable with Bofur around than he would have otherwise. He never let things get too serious.

In the evenings they sat by the fire and talked or sang, or Bilbo would read or try to write as Bofur carved yet more little animals for the mantlepiece.

Bilbo's hair was starting to get a little long, though. Every time he suggested he get it cut Bofur convinced him not to.

“I'm going to look like a girl.” Bilbo told him, pulling out one of his curls to look at it.

Bofur laughed, flicking one of his own messy braids in answer.

“Well that's _different_ , you're a Dwarf.” Bilbo argued.

“Maybe.” Bofur said agreeably, “But you look good with curls.”

He'd laughed it off at the time, but it was little things like that that worried Bilbo. His cousin, little Paladin Took, had put the thought in his head at the midwinter celebration in the Great Smials. The little fauntling had crawled into Bilbo's lap where he was telling stories, determined little thing who hadn't fallen asleep with the rest of the fauntlings yet.

He'd asked Bilbo when he was going to marry Bofur with no guile in his wide brown eyes. The question had shocked him enough he'd nearly not had the sense to ask Paladin _why_ he thought that he might do such a thing.

Because, apparently, Bilbo and Bofur acted _just like_ his eldest sister and her suitor.

Bilbo had made some joke or another and sent the fauntling on his way, but the thought had stuck. He'd worried a touch about Young Tolman or Ham Gamgee, with the amount of time Bofur spent with them and the Dwarf's preference for lads, but he'd contented himself that Bofur didn't seem to treat them with any more friendliness than he did anyone else who wasn't Bilbo.

He'd thought it was just because they knew each other better, that Bofur was more friendly with him. They _had_ been through all the dangers of the quest together... Bofur treated him the same way he _always_ had. He looked at Bilbo the same way he _always_ had.

Bofur was just _friendly_ , wasn't he?

Bofur was so hard to _read_ , sometimes. He laughed when he was happy and he laughed when he was sad. He was friendly to _everyone_ , so there was no way to _know_ if he meant anything with it.

Bilbo had himself convinced that it was nothing most of the time, but it was little things that worried him. The way Bofur might smile at him while they sang together, his eyes always so laughing and sad – the way he might rest a hand on Bilbo's shoulder in passing, giving it a little squeeze – the way he sometimes watched Bilbo while he was cooking, like he was hungry looking at Bilbo and not the food. He always _did_ insist on carrying the market basket for Bilbo, but there really was _no_ way for Bofur to know that was a traditional courting gesture.

He might have convinced himself that it was nothing, but little thing after little thing added up.

It was just a little thing, Bofur waxing poetic over a dried cherry tart Bilbo had made, just those ridiculous over-the-top compliments he used when he wanted to make Bilbo laugh... and of course it worked, Bilbo _did_ laugh.

“Careful.” he warned, “Keep talking like that and I might think you're trying to court me.”

For just a moment Bofur's eternal smile was gone, his lined face solemn in surprise without it. He covered quickly with a laugh, but for just that brief moment...

“Bofur...” Bilbo stopped him, reaching across the table to rest a hand on top of Bofur's hand, the Dwarf falling silent instantly. His warm brown eyes begged Bilbo, so sad when they weren't laughing, like an old hound who _expected_ to be kicked and was too loyal to run away.

“ _Are_ you trying to court me?” Bilbo asked.

“I know I shouldn't.” Bofur's voice was so quiet, “I _know_ you're Thorin's, but I...”

_A huge hard hand grabbing him by the front of the shirt, lifting him clear up to his tip-toes so he couldn't get any traction on the loose gold, shirt pinching under his arms, bright blue eyes burning with a cold fire where there should have been warmth, lips twisting in a smirk as he struggled fruitlessly to be put down, to ease his discomfort, to escape._

“ _You are_ mine, _burglar. Do not forget it.”_

“I don't belong to _anyone_!” Bilbo was across the kitchen from Bofur now, the chair he'd been sitting on fallen to the floor, and he _hadn't_ meant to shout at Bofur. He put his hand across his mouth, breathing deeply through his nose.

Bofur _was_ trying to court him. Why? How long had this been going on? How long had he been blind to this?

“Bilbo...” Bofur's tone was gentle, those aching-sad eyes on him as he reached toward him, made as if to stand.

“I...” Bilbo extended a finger toward Bofur, stopping him where he sat, “I need a moment.”

He was proud of how steady that came out, before he turned and ran.

Somehow he'd managed to close his bedroom door behind him and was hiding in his pillows, the blankets wrapped around him in a big cocoon as if _that_ could offer any protection.

He didn't _want_ to love anyone, he was still cracked clean through from the first time. He _loved_ Thorin, even if he didn't want to. Thorin had always been _so much more_ than Bilbo would ever be, but he'd still loved him. He'd loved Thorin when he'd been distant and condescending, and wanted more than anything to prove himself to the King. He'd loved him the _first_ time he was sure they were all going to die when he threw himself between Thorin and Azog. He'd loved him when he was kind and when he was harsh and impatient. He'd loved him when he was making decisions as a King, even when they were not always smart ones, and when he was just _Thorin_ with Bilbo.

He'd loved Thorin even when the gold madness took him. He'd loved him even when he was terrified of him, nursing his bruises and hiding from him to try to protect himself, still willing to do _anything_ to prevent war and keep him safe. He hadn't succeeded in either. He hadn't been _enough_.

When Thorin held him over a cliff by his throat and threatened to throw him to the rocks, he even loved him then. He didn't want to, by that point. He _didn't_ want to love Thorin, and he wouldn't have stayed with him by that point even the King had he'd _begged_ him to, but he'd _still_ loved him. It wouldn't have hurt so much if he didn't.

He'd loved him and held his hand and forgiven him and watched him die.

Bilbo didn't _want_ to love anyone, he was cracked clean through and Thorin was _dead_ but he _still_ loved him.

And Bofur...

Bofur was wonderful, he really was. He'd always made Bilbo feel welcome, from the beginning. He'd looked after him during the quest. He'd stuck by Bilbo and protected him as much as he could during the the worst of Thorin's madness.

He'd come to visit Bilbo and pulled him out of the worst of his grief with a laugh and a story, kept him from being so alone and lonely. He wasn't sure anyone had ever made him laugh the way Bofur did. He could picture it, he really could, a comfortable life with cheerful Bofur to make him smile every day, eating and singing and arguing about pipeweed – but he just couldn't face it. Bofur was _wonderful_ but Bilbo did not _want_ to love anyone.

He wasn't sure he'd survive it again.

When he was ready... he unwound himself from his blankets, and remade the bed, and went to find Bofur.

The Dwarf was sitting on the floor beside the door of the guest bedroom, looking down at his hands, shaggy-braided head hanging.

He looked up at Bilbo's approach, his eyes a touch red-rimmed but he still smiled at him – a soft, warm, heartbreaking smile – because Bofur smiled when he was sad just as much as he did when he was happy.

Bilbo sat across the hall from him, looked at his sock-clad feet because he couldn't bear meeting Bofur's eye. Bilbo had given him that pair of socks, and it hadn't been easy to get them. Who in the Shire had a need for socks? He'd ended up sending one of Bofurs, cleaned, socks to be used as a pattern by an expert knitter. She'd done a good job on them, or at least they _looked_ comfortable and Bofur hadn't said a word against them.

“How long have you..?” Bilbo asked.

“Since the moment I fell through your door.” Bofur answered.

That long? How had he never _noticed_ it?

“You only ever saw Thorin.” Bofur continued, quietly, “I just wanted you to be happy, but you weren't. I just wanted to protect you, but I couldn't.”

Bofur had always been there for him, sticking with him through the worst of it when everything went wrong, and all that time he'd been in love with Bilbo and never said a word?

“I know it's wrong of me to come here, to hope. You made your choice, and it wasn't me...”

“I _could_ love you.” Bilbo said, heard the silence that greeted that and knew it wasn't what Bofur had expected him to say, “I could love you but I don't _want_ to. I could... you're _so good_ , but I don't want to love _anyone,_ ever again. It does not end _well_ and I can't... I can't _face_ it, Bofur.”

He looked up from Bofur's socks to his eyes, so sad and smiling gently at him with a small nod, not arguing with him, not fighting, just accepting what Bilbo said. Was _that_ the sadness he'd been seeing in Bofur's eyes ever since they met? Bofur loving him and letting him go at the same time?

Bilbo looked back to Bofur's socked feet, the silence stretching out between them.

“What now?” Bilbo asked.

“If you'd rather I leave...” Bofur started.

“No.” Bilbo interrupted, more sharply than he should have. “...I _don't_ want to be alone.” he finished more gently.

“Then I'll stay until spring, like we planned.” Bofur said, “I'll join a caravan going west then.”

Bilbo nodded. Bofur _had_ come west with a purpose, and that purpose was not to visit Bilbo... or not _entirely_. Bilbo had kept him from from his responsibilities long enough already.

There didn't seem to be anything more to say, and the silence stretched out between them again – so strange when they were usually able to talk about anything or nothing at all for hours.

“Don't know about you, but _I_ could use a smoke.” Bofur finally said, and now that he'd mentioned it Bilbo could more than agree. It would be just the thing.

“Yes, please.” Bilbo said, and Bofur had bounced up to his feet, offering him a hand up with a smile, which Bilbo accepted, pulled to his feet just like any other time when he _hadn't_ just discovered that his best friend was in love with him and turned him away.

Bofur gave his shoulder a brief friendly squeeze with a grin as they headed for the pantry to pick out their pipeweed.

“Have we still got any of that leaf from Dunland?” Bofur asked.

“No, wretched stuff.” Bilbo said with an exaggerated shudder, “It wasn't fit for _chickens._ I threw it out.”

Bofur bumped against him with a laugh, a sparkle in his warm brown eyes, “No you didn't.”

Bilbo gestured him toward where it was stashed, taking some Old Toby for himself as Bofur loaded his pipe with the nasty sharp stuff from Dunland. Bilbo wasn't in the mood for anything but the very _best._ Pipeweed was pipeweed, but he needed _comfort_ right now, not experimentation.

They took their pipes and settled in their chairs by the fire, like any other evening, having a quiet smoke while Bofur tried argue him around to his point of view on what made a good pipeweed.

...it was going to be alright. Bofur was still _Bofur_.

Bilbo hadn't lost his friend over this. Bofur wasn't going to change on him just because they both knew where they stood now.

Until spring, he still had Bofur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things might have gone a touch better if Bofur hadn't said that about Bilbo 'belonging' to Thorin, but I don't think there would have been a different outcome of the eventual discussion. 
> 
> Also: many thanks to MarieJaqueline for letting me talk at her to get the plot solidified in my brain.


	8. Marigold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur really _is_ leaving this time.  
>  This is not a happy chapter.

It could have been worse.

Bofur couldn't blame Bilbo for not wanting to risk loving again, after what Thorin had done to him. He would never _never_ forgive Thorin for it, but he couldn't blame Bilbo.

He couldn't say he wouldn't want to do the same, in his place.

Being told Bilbo could love him, but wouldn't... it was kinder than being told he _never_ could have loved him. He didn't have a chance, even though Hobbits didn't seem to have Ones, but it could have been worse.

He'd not gotten to keep the smoke sapphire he'd mined, either, the thing that was the standard of all things beautiful before he met Bilbo. He'd gotten to see it, to coax it from the stone and hold it in his hands, but it had never been his. He'd let it go, and he would let Bilbo go too.

Bofur hadn't come to the Shire with any _hope_ , to begin with, and he still had time to enjoy Bilbo's company.

Things did not change much. They were a little gentler with each other, maybe. Bofur didn't let himself get as carried away praising Bilbo's cooking. Bilbo wasn't quite as sharp with him when he forgot to take his boots off and tracked snow onto the carpets.

Bofur still treasured every smile and laugh he could coax out of Bilbo.

It was a melancholy comfort they shared, leaning their shoulders together as they had a smoke out on the bench in the morning, or singing together at night. Bilbo felt it too, a sadness in his eyes sometimes when they were doing things together.

He'd tried to apologize for it, but Bofur wouldn't let him. If _this_ was all Bilbo could give him, he would take it gladly. A memory of friendship to keep him warm, the way the memory of once holding a dark blue smoke sapphire had comforted him in the leanest years when he hadn't been sure he'd ever see anything beautiful again.

Bofur would _never_ push for more than Bilbo wanted to give, or make him feel guilty for what he did or didn't feel.

He would not be like _that_.

He could eat Bilbo's wonderful cooking, and have friendly arguments with him, and Bilbo didn't seem to mind that Bofur watched him constantly, just soaking everything in. Bilbo, soft and beautiful and clever and _so brave_ , so obviously loving the comforts of home but able to endure hardship right alongside Dwarves.

Bofur _loved_ Bilbo, and he'd had a fall and a winter with him, just a few stolen months he'd never even hoped for, and he still had his friendship.

It could have been worse.

 

In the early spring Bofur bought a fluffy dappled-gray pony. He'd walked to Bree to get news of any caravans he might join going west, and bought a pony on the way back, to make the trip quicker.

He liked Bree, the rowdy crowd at the Prancing Pony was much better than the stodgy one at the Green Dragon, but he'd missed Bilbo too. Even more than he'd expected to.

Bilbo shook his head and asked him _where_ , exactly, he planned to keep a pony in Bag End.

While Bofur scratched his head over _that_ unexpected hiccup, Bilbo fed the pony an apple and named her Marigold. Bilbo scratched her forehead and called her a pretty girl, and then took mercy on Bofur and told him the Green Dragon could probably house her in their stables.

They walked down to the Green Dragon together, Bilbo leading Marigold while Bofur told all about his trip. He hadn't found a caravan to join _this_ trip, but he was sure he'd find one soon. Butterbur, the tavernkeeper at the Green Dragon, had assured him that there would be caravans coming through soon.

Buying the pony had seemed like a good idea at the time, he'd just wanted to get _home –_ no, not home, back to Bag End – but having Marigold made his leaving seem so much more immediate, _final_.

There was no helping it, though. He'd avoided leaving long enough. Bombur was waiting for him in Nurgathol and he had things to do. He'd been sent to see about helping Dwarves relocate to Erebor, and to help Bombur and Mirra and the little ones move.

That's why he'd come west, and he'd not done a very good job of it so far.

Bilbo haggled with the ostler at the Green Dragon, and they left Marigold in his care to walk back to Bag End together.

They were both maybe quieter than they would have been.

In Bag End there was the delicious smell of a roasting chicken, with rosemary baked potatoes and the last of the fall parsnips and a big pile of steamed baby asparagus tips and fiddleheads with lemon garlic butter sauce, because the first of the spring vegetables were starting to come in.

Bofur savored every bite, and complimented Bilbo generously, Bilbo's perfect smoke sapphire eyes shining back at him. He would miss the unashamed _enthusiasm_ of Hobbit cooking once he was back under the mountains, but not as much as he would miss Bilbo.

It was probably a _good_ thing that he was traveling to Bree so often, to get used to being away from Bilbo again. Still, Marigold was a sweet pony, calm and steady, and he traveled light. There would be more than enough room for a second rider. It was always a fight with himself _not_ to invite Bilbo along with him – Bilbo would probably have a good time in the Prancing Pony, the ale was good and the company was energetic – but Bofur was _trying_ to let go.

It wasn't easy. He found himself turning to share a joke with Bilbo, even though he wasn't there – wanting to share tasty morsels he _knew_ Bilbo would like, just wishing more than anything he could lean his shoulder against Bilbo's and share a smoke and a friendly argument about nothing.

Bofur had never understood it, before, when Dwarves who were _not_ married Dwarves who _were_ closer to Mahal's stone, the craft-wed. He'd never understood how such a relationship would _work_ , how it could be satisfying to be with someone who would never have an interest in sex.

He understood it now.

Given a choice he would rather spend his days beside Bilbo sharing nothing but close companionship, and his nights alone with his own hand, than he would sharing _everything_ with someone else.

But that was not a choice he was given, and he tried to let go.

It did not seem that Bilbo was doing the same. It seemed like Bilbo sat closer to him when he came back from his trips, cooked things _just_ the way he liked them best, smiled at him more.

Maybe Bofur just _noticed_ more when he'd been away from him.

 

Eventually, of course, he _did_ find a caravan going to the Blue Mountains. A friendly group of Men, traders going through to Southhaven, and that was just two day's ride from Nurgathol. He bought them a pint or two, and they agreed readily enough to let him join them.

He had a week.

Just one week to gather his things and say goodbye.

He rode Marigold back to the Shire, left her in the stables at the Green Dragon and walked up the Hill, followed the pull of his boots up to Bag End at the top.

The soft round hills had turned bright green in the last weeks, little flowers blooming in them, and maybe he'd spent too long on the surface if he was noticing them at all, and then not comparing them unfavorably to the jewels mined of the earth.

He was no Hobbit, he couldn't give a name to any of them, but they _were_ beautiful for all they were so brief.

Bofur didn't knock, going into Bag End, and he remembered to take his boots off at the door, answering when Bilbo called from deeper in the house to see if it was him. He followed the Hobbit's voice to the study, where Bilbo was bent over something, writing, smiling when Bofur stepped through the doorway.

“I found a caravan,” Bofur told him, “leaving in a week for Southhaven.”

Bilbo's face fell for just a moment before he smiled a wry little smile.

“You've got to go on, I've kept you long enough.” He said.

“I really do.” Bofur answered, even if it wasn't what he wanted... but he _did_ want to see Bombur and Mirra and the little ones, just maybe not _without_ Bilbo.

He had to let go, and it was not easy.

Bilbo blew gently on his page to set the ink and closed his book, padding past Bofur in the doorway on his furry feet with the cutest hairy toes, reaching out to give Bofur's arm a squeeze in passing.

“I'll have to feed you my best, before you go, so you don't forget the Shire.” Bilbo said, heading for the pantry.

“There's already no chance of _that_.” Bofur answered with a laugh.

He would let Bilbo go, but hold onto the memories forever.

 

Bofur settled the last of his packs on Marigold, and he _didn't_ say the words on the tip of his tongue.

He _didn't_ ask Bilbo to come with him. Bilbo's choice was made, twice over, and he hadn't chosen _Bofur_. It wouldn't be fair to pressure him that way.

Marigold was a sturdy pony, and Bofur packed light.

There would be more than enough room for a Hobbit with a light pack too.

Bofur didn't ask. He didn't.

Bilbo had helped him pack, to gather up all his things out of his room – no, not his room, the guest room – and made sure he had everything he needed. Bilbo had even packed up his favorite varieties of the pipeweed for him.

He'd visited with the Tolmans and the Overhills and Ham Gamgee, to say goodbye to the friends he'd made in Hobbiton. They were good folk, Hobbits, hardworking even though their first love was food and parties. They had so much fun you'd hardly think they were getting anything done, but at the end of the day the field would be harvested, or the fence fixed, or the barn raised.

Bofur had enjoyed the Shire, and not just because it held the one brave Hobbit he would love forever.

He didn't think he'd be back.

The little line of carved animals lining Bilbo's mantlepiece was all he'd left behind. Maybe they'd make Bilbo smile when he saw them, remembering a friend. Maybe he would notice them and smile as he sat alone by the fire where they'd sat together just last night, singing a few quiet songs, just the two of them. Bilbo had leaned against Bofur's side, his warm little hand finding its way into Bofur's to twine their fingers together. Bofur had rested his cheek against the top of Bilbo's head, felt the softness of his shaggy curls. They hadn't spoken, just sang and been close.

It was a memory Bofur would treasure forever.

Bofur tightened the straps down, making sure his pack wouldn't bounce around, and did _not_ ask Bilbo to come with him, not even if there _was_ room.

Marigold was sniffing at Bilbo's jacket, hoping for an apple or a carrot probably, fuzzy beggar that she was. Bilbo was petting her nose, but his eyes were on Bofur, sparkling dark gray-blue and the standard of all that was beautiful in the world.

“You wouldn't want to come see the Blue Mountains with me, would you?”

Bofur closed his eyes, turning away. He'd _not_ intended that to come out aloud, he _hadn't_ been going to ask, it wasn't _fair_ to ask.

…Bilbo's silence was all the answer he needed, the answer he'd known he'd get and that's why he _shouldn't_ have asked it. Bilbo belonged in the _Shire_ , why should he ever want to leave when all the world had shown him outside it was heartbreak and pain?

Bofur leaned forward, resting his hatted forehead against Marigold's saddle.

He was leaving Bilbo behind for good, he really was, and for just a moment he let himself _feel_ that.

In a moment he would stop it, would pull himself together and leave with a smile, but for just _one_ moment he let his heart break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to katchan00 of tumblr for helping me name Marigold. 
> 
> Thanks also to sam-ptarmigan, gremlinloquacious, mousezilla, and greenekangaroo for helping me come up with something to call the portion of Dwarves who dedicate themselves to their craft and have no interest in sex. I have decided that Dwarves call them the craft-wed, closer to Mahal's stone: we would call them Asexual.


	9. answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those chapters that takes place in a single moment.

“ _You wouldn't want to come see the Blue Mountains with me, would you?”_

Bilbo had seen the words hanging on the tip of Bofur's tongue, pulled back again and again until they finally fell out of his mouth, tone deceptively light. He saw the Dwarf flinch from the words he hadn't meant to say, turn away from him. Bilbo's hands were still mechanically petting Marigold's forehead as his throat froze, his heart pounding in his ears.

They hadn't spoken of how Bofur felt about Bilbo again, after the one time. Bilbo had turned him down and that was that, but Bofur was _leaving_ and...

Bofur leaving, just on short trips to Bree, had been hard. Bag End was so horribly _silent_ without him, Bilbo found himself tiptoeing through his own home. At night he lay awake listening for the snores that he _wouldn't_ hear. The smial was _cold_ without Bofur's laugh to warm it.

Bilbo carried on, of course, but there was much less joy in making a fine meal for just _himself_. He missed Bofur's jokes and stories, and his songs, missed them like a cold ache in the bottom of his stomach when Bofur wasn't around.

He found himself listening for Bofur at the door, as if he'd just gone out to work with Ham or Young Tolman.

Bilbo _might_ have missed Bofur enough, on one of his longer trips, to smoke a little of the sharper pipeweed he favored – not that he would _ever_ admit to that. The scent had been a comfort, even if he didn't particularly care for the flavor.

Comfort was what Bofur was, there was precious little of it in Bag End when he was gone, and Bilbo had found himself trying to soak up as much of it from him as he could while he still had the chance to.

...before he was alone again...

Bofur was slumping forward now, his forehead resting against Marigold's saddle and his laughing face falling into lines of grief.

Oh Bofur... Bilbo didn't _ever_ want him to be sad. Bilbo didn't want him to _leave_ , wanted to keep him in the Shire forever even if that wasn't fair to him.

Bofur _had_ to leave, Bilbo had kept him too long already... and he'd invited Bilbo to go along with him.

“ _You wouldn't want to come see the Blue Mountains with me, would you?”_

No.

No he _couldn't_.

He couldn't go running out of Bag End again chasing after a Dwarf, it did not end _well_. He couldn't.

He didn't want to be alone, but he _couldn't_...

...that wasn't all there was to it, though, was it? He didn't want to be alone, but he'd rather be alone than be with just _anyone_. Lobelia was more than willing to move into Bag End – and _that_ terrifying thought aside, adventures notwithstanding, Bilbo _was_ an eligible bachelor. He could have courted any number of Hobbit maids, if he wanted, but he never _had_ wanted that, even before he realized what he _did_ want. Even if the Shire understood two men loving one another, he couldn't think of a single Hobbit he'd want to invite into his home the way he had Bofur. He couldn't imagine anyone else he wouldn't get tired of, wouldn't want to send away to get some privacy from.

Bilbo didn't _just_ want companionship, he wanted _Bofur_.

No.

He didn't _want_ to want Bofur.

Bofur was wonderful, he really was. He was kind and funny and brave, he'd always tried to look after Bilbo, and he was wonderful, but it was best if there was never anything more than that...

Bofur was holding onto Marigold's saddle so tight his knuckles were going white, his face turning even further away from Bilbo. He was wearing new mitts Bilbo had commissioned for him, and one of the shirts and a jacket Bilbo had had made for him too. Bilbo had just wanted to give him _nice_ things, useful thing. He'd wanted to see him looking good, to give him _something_ in return for how much better Bilbo was with him. Bofur was so _good_ , he'd never asked for anything more than Bilbo could give him in all these months...

months?

It _had_ been months.

Bilbo had spent _far_ more time with Bofur now than he _ever_ had with Thorin, and the thought shook through him with a gasp.

All this time, and the thought of Bofur leaving him ached cold under Bilbo's stomach. He couldn't picture anyone else he could sit beside the fire and sing with the way he had last night, leaning against his side and holding on tight to the Dwarf's hand because he didn't ever want to let him go.

Here Bofur was, dressed all in clothes Bilbo had given him, after Bilbo made sure he stayed through fall and winter with him.

It might be best if there was never anything but friendship between them, but it was _already_ too late for that for Bilbo, wasn't it? Much as he didn't want to admit it.

He could ignore it.

He could ignore it and stay here, safe and alone in the Shire. He could go back to carrying on all alone the way he had before Bofur knocked on his door in the night to pull him out of his grief. He could live alone and grieve for Thorin and Bofur both, though the loss of Bofur had been his own choice.

“ _You wouldn't want to come see the Blue Mountains with me, would you?”_

He couldn't _go_ , he couldn't follow Bofur to the Blue Mountains. He couldn't risk that, he was cracked clean through and he would shatter when sweet, kind _Bofur_ changed on him under the mountains, when his warm eyes turned hard and his gentle hands turned cruel...

Only Bofur _wouldn't_ change on him. He wouldn't... he hadn't the last time. Bofur had never been anything but what he _was._ He'd lied to Thorin's face, misdirecting him to keep Bilbo hidden, risking his own life against a mad King to keep Bilbo safe even though he'd never hoped for anything from Bilbo. He wasn't even going so far away to a dragon-cursed mountain this time, just a humble settlement nestled in the Blue Mountains. There wasn't even any gold there to drive him mad, and Bilbo was _still_ afraid.

He was _terrified,_ his heart pounding and his hands shaking where they rested on patient Marigold's forehead.

Bilbo had faced trolls and orcs and wargs and goblins and spiders and a _dragon,_ and he was frozen in fear over the thought of loving one of the kindest people he knew, of traveling beside him.

Bofur would leave without him. Bilbo didn't have to do or say anything and Bofur would leave him with a smile, because Bofur smiled when his heart was breaking.

Bilbo would never have to face this.

He could live in Bag End, safe and alone for the rest of his life.

...he could spend the rest of his life mourning in the shadow of Thorin's madness...

No.

Bilbo squared himself, taking a deep breath.

If he could face Azog for Thorin, then he could face Thorin for Bofur.

Bofur must not have heard him move, because he gasped when Bilbo collided with his back. He wrapped his arms _tight_ around the Dwarf's solid middle, his hands fisting in the fine-woven linen of the shirt Bilbo had given him, clinging to him with his face pressed against Bofur's shoulder blades. Bofur smelled like Bag End, like wood and earth and good food and books, and he smelled like his favorite sharp pipeweed, and underneath it the warm metallic scent of clean Dwarf skin. Bilbo nestled his face into the rough strands of the braid down Bofur's back and held on tight.

“ _You wouldn't want to come see the Blue Mountains with me, would you?”_

“...yes.” Bilbo whispered.


	10. talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur's thoughts on this.

“...yes.” Bilbo's whisper was quiet, hesitant against Bofur's back.

“Bilbo?” Bofur tried to turn, to see his face, to know what he was doing, what he was thinking, to _understand_ – but Bilbo's arms tightened further, restraining him, and he didn't fight against the smaller man's hold.

“I want to go with you. I want to _try_.” Bilbo's voice was a little stronger, and Bofur let go of Marigold's saddle to put his hands over Bilbo's, clenched in his shirt, holding them close to his heart.

“Bilbo...” Bofur ached in his chest, not quite daring to hope that Bilbo _really_ meant... he might just want to travel together, just as companions the way they'd been here in Bag End...

“Promise me...” Bilbo faltered, his forehead pressing in harder between Bofur's shoulder blades as he took a deep breath, “Bofur, _promise me_ you won't change if I do this, if I'm _with_ you.”

Bofur would _never_ forgive Thorin for breaking Bilbo's trust that way, _never_ , and he wanted to babble out that he was not the kind of Dwarf who would ever _do_ that – but he knew too that Thorin hadn't been either before the madness struck him. Bilbo needed a better assurance from him.

“There's no madness in my family.” Bofur said, “...other than joining mad quests on occasion.” He laughed slightly at that, even though he wasn't supposed to be joking, this was _serious_ , maybe the most serious conversation he would ever have.

“I felt it, the pull of the dragon's gold. I _wanted_ it.” He admitted, feeling Bilbo's entire body tense. He pressed Bilbo's hands firmer into his chest, “But when I saw _you_ , afraid... Thorin could have offered me every last coin and jewel under the Mountain and I wouldn't have given you up for it.”

He'd found Bilbo hiding from Thorin, nursing his hurts and afraid of Bofur too, looking like he wanted to run when he saw him, but why _should_ he trust any Dwarf when the one who was supposed to care for him the most had hurt him?

He'd heard Thorin, then, calling for Bilbo. He'd seen the fear turn to terror in Bilbo's gray-blue eyes as they rolled, searching for an escape that wasn't there, and he _knew_ that fear. He couldn't do _nothing_.

It had been easy enough to cut Thorin off, to gab on about something or other and suggest that he'd seen Bilbo heading in another direction. The madness in Thorin's eyes had been terrifying enough to _Bofur_ , and Thorin had not not laid a hand on _him._ Bofur had felt the pull of the gold the same as everyone else, true, but _Bilbo_ had always been more important than it.

“I want you to be _happy_ more than I'll ever want gold, or _anything_ else.” Bofur finished quietly toward Marigold's saddle, and he hoped that it was enough, that he'd said it well enough for Bilbo to understand. The Hobbit was still holding him, his body pressed tight to the back of Bofur's.

“I... I _know_ that.” Bilbo said hesitantly, and of _course_ he was still afraid... brave Bilbo.

“I love you.” Bofur had never said it aloud before, the words falling with surprising weight from his lips for all he'd said them quietly, the word's he'd held unsaid for so long, that he'd never thought there would be the right time to say. They felt _right_ in the air.

“Bofur...” Bilbo's voice was choked on it.

“Let me...” Bofur tried to turn around again and this time Bilbo let him. He _finally_ folded Bilbo into his arms, held him close. Bilbo's curly head tucked perfectly against his neck and Bofur's eyes closed as he ran his fingers through the soft strands of his hair.

He'd _never_ thought he would get to have this, get to hold Bilbo even _once_ more after the wake of the battle.

Now he _could_. Now brave Bilbo was trusting him enough to let him hold him, to be _with_ him, and Bofur didn't know if a heart could break from joy but he might find out.

“I love you.” He whispered, “I love you, I love you.” other words were nothing, meaningless.

He didn't know how long they might have stayed there, with both of them holding tight and Bofur whispering his love, if Marigold had not sighed heavily as she shifted on her feet and brought them back to the moment.

They released each other, laughing a bit to break the tension, and Bilbo's smoke sapphire eyes were smiling up at Bofur as he squeezed his hand.

“I'll have to pack!” he said, “...and write a few letters with instructions, I _can't_ go running off without telling anyone again.”

“Marigold and I are patient.” Bofur answered, his heart jumping in his chest as Bilbo threw him an only _slightly_ nervous smile before running back up into Bag End.

 

With the business of packing Bilbo's things and giving messages to Ham Gamgee and a few of Bilbo's Took relatives, they didn't have a chance to _talk_ more until they were on the road to Bree to meet up with the trader caravan. Bilbo was sitting behind, one hand resting on Bofur's hip, and Bofur knew his smile was bordering on silly but he just couldn't stop. Bilbo was giving him a chance and nothing could be wrong in the world.

It was better than finding an unexpectedly beautiful sapphire shining in the deep dark of a mine.

Bilbo's hand squeezed on his hip, catching his attention, and Bofur put his hand over Bilbo's to show he was paying attention.

“I... I'm _trying_ but I'll need to go slow... take my time.” Bilbo said quietly, “I don't think I _can_ rush in again...” His tone grew strained, and Bofur could tell he was getting sad, thinking of Thorin.

There had been those in the Company who disapproved of how quickly Thorin had taken Bilbo to his bed, with little to no courtship before, but Thorin had been the King and with the dangers of the quest driving them all on... no one had spoken against it. It probably wouldn't have changed anything if they had.

Bofur squeezed Bilbo's hand and turned in the saddle so he could see Bilbo's slightly worried face.

“Dwarven courtship is normally slow. I'd rather not rush, either.” he assured him, “I promise I won't _ever_ push you.”

Bofur could wait. He'd waited years already, and if he could have Bilbo at his side the waiting would be pleasant. Even if Bilbo was _never_ ready for more than companionship, Bofur would still have him at his side. It would be no different from marrying a craft-wed Dwarf, and there was nothing wrong with Bofur's hand that he couldn't take care of his needs himself.

Bilbo's eyes sparkled with a small smile at him, and Bofur turned himself back to the road, not that Marigold needed much guidance. She knew the way to Bree.

“You're so _good_.” Bilbo mused, running an affectionate hand down Bofur's back.

“Well, I'd make a poor miner if I weren't patient, wouldn't I!” Bofur told him. There were too many ways to break a good gemstone by prying it out wrong, too many ways to collapse a mineshaft if the rock weren't carefully read first. He began to tell a few of them to Bilbo, until the Hobbit laughed and poked him in the side.

“This must be what it feels like for you when I start talking about gardening.” He mused. “Nothing you're saying makes sense to me.”

“You're probably right!” Bofur agreed, and they found something else to talk about.

They could always find _something_ to talk about. Bofur didn't think they'd _ever_ run out of things to say even if they had the rest of their lives, and he'd never dared dream he'd get the chance to find out if he was right.

The spring sun was warm, and the finest and bravest of Hobbits was riding behind him with a hand on his hip, was giving Bofur a chance, and he couldn't stop smiling.


	11. the caravan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> joining the caravan

They were an easy-going group of traders Bofur had chosen to travel with, after their initial surprise they didn't mind Bilbo joining too. The leader, Rhodri, had a few questions for Bilbo, but once Bilbo had assured him that he was _most certainly_ not a child and this was _not_ his first time out of the Shire, the fair-haired Man was happy to welcome him into the caravan.

Gathering Bilbo's things had taken some time, so they'd joined up later than might have been ideal. It was already dark out, and Bilbo cleared a spot of rocks and branches for his and Bofur's bedrolls while Bofur unpacked and tethered Marigold.

They set their bedrolls up side by side. They were no closer than they might have set their bedrolls to anyone elses during the quest – they'd decided it would be best to be quiet about their relationship until they knew how the Men of the caravan were likely to react – but the soft smile Bofur gave him as they set up had Bilbo's ears heating with a blush he was glad the dark of night would hide.

Bofur smiled, Bofur _always_ smiled, but since this morning it was like a light shining behind his craggy face.

With just one word Bilbo had made him _this_ happy... it was a little frightening. At the same time, he knew that if he really _couldn't_ do this, Bofur would let him go. It might break him but he would do it, and that knowledge made Bilbo all the more determined to make this work.

With their beds set up they settled next to the fire to visit a little with those of the caravan still up. Bilbo adjusted Sting as he sat, still getting used to wearing a sword on his side again. It would be as simple and instinctive as breathing again soon, he was sure.

“I've never seen a Hobbit leave home, before.” One of the Men commented, with murmurs of agreement from others as they eyed him curiously. _That_ would get old fast, if they kept it up.

“It's not _completely_ unheard of.” Bilbo said, “My uncle Hidlifons left on a journey and never returned, that's before I was born, and my uncle Isengar ran away and went to _sea_ when he was a tween.”

“The sea is a very a big place, what parts did he go to?” Another Man asked, Morien he'd been introduced as, his long black hair in a mane of locks tied at the back of his neck and his smile friendly as he served them up some leftovers from the caravan's dinner.

“I'm not exactly sure...” Bilbo said, Uncle Isengar didn't speak of his adventures much anymore, and when he'd been young his father had always discouraged Bilbo from interacting with him, in case he got _ideas_. “I know he mentioned the island of Himring?”

“Ah, Himring.” Morien nodded, “That is north up the coast. He should have gone south, it is _much_ better.”

“You're just biased!” Someone accused him.

“What do _you_ know? You have never been, you landluber!” Morien laughed back, and Bilbo had almost thought that the conversation would drift away from Hobbits, but he was not so lucky.

“I've never seen a Hobbit armed before, either.” the first Man said, “Can you even _use_ that knife?”

“ _Can_ he?” Bofur laughed, “Bilbo's killed orcs and wargs and spiders with that sword of his!”

“Spiders?” There was laughter at that, even as Bilbo shivered at the memory.

“Oh aye, spiders.” Bofur said, his smile not faltering in the least, “It's easy to laugh about them when _you're_ not the one facing crawlers the size of horses.”

There was more disbelieving laughter, but one of the Men gestured the rest to silence.

“No, no... I've heard stories of them. You've seen them _yourself?_ ” He asked, and that was all the encouragement Bofur needed to launch into the story. He left out some details, since they'd decided nobody should know they'd been in the group to reclaim Erebor, just to be safe.

Bilbo finished his dinner and listened to Bofur tell the only _slightly_ exaggerated story, laughing along as he somehow made what had been so terrifying at the time into something _funny._

 

They didn't stay up _too_ late, going to their bedrolls along with most of the rest of the camp. A bedroll on the ground was nowhere near as comfortable as his bed at home, but Bilbo had slept on far worse. He would get used to it.

At least _this time_ he knew much more about what made a warm and comfortable bed roll, and had packed accordingly.

He and Bofur hadn't sat _too_ close to each other at the fire, but hidden by the darkness as the camp settled in to rest... Bilbo scooted his bedroll up close beside Bofur's, reaching out to wrap his hand around Bofur's.

Bofur gave it a squeeze, and Bilbo could almost _feel_ his smile in the dark. They really didn't dare _talk_ , with the caravan's ears around them in the quiet night, but they migrated closer together until they were snuggling with the blankets of their bedrolls between them, facing each other on their sides. Bilbo rested his head against Bofur's chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat, and Bofur rubbed Bilbo's back. It was close and warm and _comfortable_.

It felt... it felt _safe_ , and Bilbo's eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He looked up at Bofur's face, not able to make out much more than the general shape of it, and knowing that Bofur could likely see _him_ much better with his Dwarvish eyesight. He scooted up in the blankets as he stroked Bofur's bare cheek, brushed back the messy rough strands of hair that always escaped his braids. Bofur's fingers were gently running through Bilbo's curls at the back of his head now.

Bilbo smoothed down the hair of Bofur's impressive mustache, feeling the warmth of his breath on his fingers, and leaned in.

The kiss was different.

It was different from the chaste little explorations of his tween years while he discovered that he really _wasn't_ interested in maids the way the other boys seemed to be.

It was _very_ different from being kissed by Thorin – that had always been so immediate, aggressive almost, with not much Bilbo could _do_ but submit and try to keep up... and Bilbo _firmly_ pushed those thoughts away.

The kiss was soft, Bofur's breath catching as their lips met, his fingers tightening in Bilbo's hair briefly. Bilbo sucked at his bottom lip slightly, not entirely sure what he was supposed to do. Bofur's lips moved, warm against his, the ends of his mustache tickling at Bilbo's chin.

It only lasted a few seconds before Bofur broke it but did not pull away, resting their foreheads together.

“Are you sure?” his whisper was so quiet even Bilbo almost couldn't hear it. He nodded in answer, their noses bumping together. He stroked Bofur's cheek again, down to the back of his neck to hold as he pressed their lips together briefly again. Sweet Bofur, who was being so careful with him, who knew he was cracked through and loved him anyway. It would be alright. He _wanted_ this to be alright, wanted to be able to do this.

“Are you?” he asked just as quiet.

Bofur's breath huffed out in a silent laugh, “So much.” he answered, pressing forward with a kiss of his own, his lips soft as they caught Bilbo's. His tongue licked gently at Bilbo's lips, warm and wet, and he opened for him. Bofur did not delve in, as Bilbo had expected him to, keeping his forays light and brief, as though inviting Bilbo to chase after him.

Bofur tasted slightly of the pipeweed he favored as Bilbo's tongue followed his back into his mouth... just slightly, just soft kisses and light teases with the tips of their tongues meeting and sliding past interspersed with soft pecks and gently sucking on each other's lips.

It was good, it was _so good_ with Bofur's arms around him, warm and close. They were developing a bit of a rhythm, delving a little deeper, when Bofur's arms were _too tight_ around him, his face too close, _too much like.._.

Bofur seemed to feel it the moment he tensed, though, easing off with a little nuzzle of their noses together, his arms opening, and Bilbo drew back until he felt like he could breathe right.

The last person who'd kissed him, the only other person who'd _ever_ properly kissed him, was... was _gone_. Thorin was gone and he would never be back and it _ached_... even though there was a small voice in the back of Bilbo's head that said it might be for the best he'd not had time for the madness to reclaim him.

But that was all in the past, firmly in the past. It was over even _before_ Thorin died. Bilbo might _still_ love him with an ache like a bruise through his chest, but by the end there was _nothing_ Thorin could have done to convince him to stay.

It was long over, and this was _Bofur_ Bilbo was kissing. Bofur was the one Bilbo _wanted_ to be kissing. He was so different, and so good. He was _Bofur_ , warm and kind and funny and _safe_. He wasn't going to go mad or turn cruel. He wasn't even doing anything terribly dangerous that he was likely to die doing.

“Alright?” Bofur whispered, his fingertips tracing across Bilbo's cheek, and Bilbo took a few deep breaths before he nodded. There was just barely enough light for him to see Bofur smile softly at him.

“We should sleep.” he suggested, and Bofur nodded, rolling away onto his back. Bilbo rearranged his rumpled blankets and lay beside him, looking up at the starry sky above them, breathed in the cool night air.

Bofur's breath came out _oddly_ beside him, and he looked toward the Dwarf curiously. It took him a moment to realize that Bofur was _laughing_. He put his hand on his arm, asking in on the joke.

“...afraid I'm going to wake up...” Bofur whispered in explanation. Oh, sweet Bofur... if he thought that trying to stay completely silent while kissing someone who nearly panicked on him was a _dream._..

Bilbo slid his hand down to Bofurs, twined their fingers together and gave a squeeze.

“I'll still be here when you do.” He promised.

Bofur squeezed his fingers back, and their hands were still clasped tight when Bofur's quiet snores finally lulled Bilbo to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just watched DoS.  
> Not to spoiler anybody but... apparently this fic is set post-book-canon rather than post-movie.  
> *sails into the sunset*


	12. a walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was about time for a little smut...

Traveling to the Blue Mountains with the caravan of traders was wonderful, because Bilbo was wonderful. The traders were happy and easy-going, they'd made a good profit on their trip and were returning to Southhaven with wagons full of goods they expected to make another good profit on. They stopped looking at Bilbo oddly after a few days, and Morien the sea-cook turned caravan-chef with his frankly impressive tattoos seemed determined to make friends with the Hobbit. Bilbo, with his interest in the wider world, was happy to talk to the Man about all the ports and islands up and down the coast he'd landed in, the different cultures and cuisines he'd sampled.

Bofur of course got along with everyone, and he was glad to see Bilbo making friends.

The caravan were good, and the spring weather couldn't have been more pleasant if it tried, but the trip was wonderful because Bilbo was wonderful. Things weren't easy, and they'd likely get harder once they reached Nurgathol, but that was a worry for another day. Bilbo was wonderful, and he was finally with Bofur now, and nothing could be better.

It was hard sometimes, keeping their relationship hidden, but it was probably for the best. It helped Bofur not push Bilbo, helped things stay slow. Bilbo was sweet and generous but there were things that made him sad, and of course there were things that frightened him. Bofur was learning how to avoid them.

He already had so much more than he'd hoped for.

Not so long ago he'd thought he'd never get to taste Bilbo's soft lips, never get to hold him close. He'd thought he would be traveling to the Blue Mountains alone with a broken heart.

Instead Bofur rode with Bilbo's hand resting on his hip, that same hand slipping into his to hold in the dark. He got to hold soft and snugly Bilbo in his arms, and share gentle kisses while it was too dark out for the Men to see what they were doing.

It was wonderful, it really was, but having so much he'd never thought he could have made Bofur want _more_. More that they did not have the time, space, or privacy to indulge in. More that Bilbo was not ready to give, regardless, and Bofur would not push him for.

It wouldn't be a problem, really, but with Bilbo at his side all the time there wasn't privacy to take care of himself, either.

With that ache of _want_ settled low in his gut, twinging with every smile and touch Bilbo gave him, Bofur was almost afraid he'd forget himself and push for more.

He could control himself, of course, but he'd feel better if he could at least take the edge off. The Men of the caravan, those who didn't sleep in the wagons, tended to go for a walk at night if they felt the need for some privacy. There would probably be some laughter, a little nudge and wink about it, same as when anyone else indulged in the practice, but Bofur decided it was probably his best option.

He waited until Bilbo was deep in conversation with Morien, tasting some of the rarer spices the cook carried in his kit, before he went for a walk. Bilbo noticed him leaving, breaking off his conversation, but Bofur made a be-right-back gesture and Bilbo fell right back in.

It was a dark night, darker than the Men would be able to see anything in, so Bofur didn't feel the need to go _too_ far. They weren't likely to meet with any enemies here, but it was always safest to stay close. Bofur found a comfortable rock to sit on and leaned back against a tree, getting as comfortable as he could.

It would start with a kiss.

It would start with a kiss, Bilbo's soft lips meeting his with those delicious nibbling little kisses he liked to start with and his mouth would taste sweet from some Hobbitish baked confection.

It would start with a kiss and Bilbo above him, because Bilbo tended to be more comfortable being in the position of greater strength – and of course he had reason.

It would start with a kiss, and Bofur would be stroking his fingers through the silky curls of Bilbo's hair as they kissed... just that simple thought, finally indulged in, was more than enough to have Bofur stone-hard.

He took his knitted mitt off and freed himself from his pants, stroking his cock with a leisurely hand, letting himself drift into the pleasure.

It would start with a kiss, and they would slowly undress each other. Bofur would finally explore all of Bilbo's skin, and he could not imagine it would not be soft. Bofur would kiss everywhere Bilbo let him and they would wrap around each other, indulging in the warm slide of skin against skin with nothing between them as Bilbo pressed Bofur backward to lay on him. Eventually Bilbo's soft but steady little hand would search down to find him, would wrap around his cock, and Bofur had to bite back a groan as his erection jumped in his hand at the thought.

They would still be kissing, and Bofur would wrap one hand around Bilbo's gorgeous, perfect, round arse to knead it and hold him close while he took Bilbo's cock in his own hand.

Bilbo would moan, then... and Bofur's grip tightened at the thought, his hand speeding up. Bilbo would moan against Bofur's neck and fuck himself into Bofur's hand, loosing the ability to continue stroking Bofur as he shuddered in his pleasure.

Bofur would have a handful of good thick oil now, would spread it around everywhere. Nevermind the mess, there would be slick _everywhere_ as he held both his own and Bilbo's cock in his hand, stroking them together while Bilbo continued to thrust against him, lying on top of him so warm and soft and close.

Oh he wanted to hear those moans, wanted to know _all_ of Bilbo's pleasure sounds and the best ways to get him to make them.

Bofur was getting close now, the heat and warmth spreading through his body, the tightness growing in his back and thighs. He could feel a trickle of sweat forming on his chest and flapped the bottom edge of his shirt with his spare hand, getting a little breath of air across his skin to cool himself.

On a whim he lifted the hem of his shirt, baring his furry belly to the cool night air as he gently toyed with the gold bar through a nipple.

Maybe Bilbo would kiss his way down Bofur's chest while Bofur continued stroking them together. Bilbo would run that sweet tongue across Bofur's nipple, soft and gentle, just a tease at first until he sucked it into his mouth. He would work the piercing mercilessly with his tongue and lips, warm and soft and wet...

He would look up at Bofur... and Bofur spent himself to the image of perfect smoke-sapphire eyes looking up at him through pale lashes with a smile sparkling in their depths. He released his nipple to shove his hand in his mouth, biting it to muffle the sounds he would have made as his body bucked and trembled through climax.

He eased himself back against the tree, getting his breathing back under control and laughing a little at the lingering guilt of not having finished Bilbo before he did, even in a fantasy, but consoled himself with the thought that he could suck him off afterward.

His cock gave a half-hearted twitch at the thought, but it was spent.

At least he'd managed to catch all his spending in his hand, and he wiped it on the rock. Some big leaves from a nearby plant served to finish the cleanup, and he put his mitt back on as he set his clothes back to rights.

He took a leisurely walk around the camp, airing himself out, so he wasn't returning breathless and sweaty.

There were a few laughs and nudged elbows when he returned, but it wasn't as though most of the camp hadn't indulged themselves at least once since Bree, so it died down quickly. Bilbo smiled at him when he saw him, gesturing him over.

“Morien traded me for some of the spices they add to their pipeweed where he's from! Do you want to try it with me?” Bilbo asked brightly as Bofur sat beside him near the fire.

“The spices make the flavors sweeter and brighter.” Morien volunteered, packing his own pipe with what was unmistakeably some of Bilbo's southfarthing pipeweed.

“Alright, let's give it a try.” Bofur agreed, and Bilbo's eyes sparkled at him through his lashes as he lit the pipe, taking a long pull at it before passing it over to Bofur. It was all Bofur could do not to blush to see Bilbo looking at him like that with his lips wrapped around the pipe, after what he'd just spent himself thinking of...

The smoke was definitely sweeter than Bofur was used to – and Bilbo had mixed it with some of his already sweet Old Toby. It might have gone better with something a touch bolder, and he mentioned as much as he passed the pipe back.

Bilbo laughed at him as he blew a perfect smoke ring.

“You _know_ you love it.” Bilbo told him.

“It's nice enough for a change, now and then,” Bofur acceded, “but it'll never be my favorite.”

“They say variety is the sweetest part of life.” Morien added, leaning back and stretching his long legs toward the fire as he smiled at them, and did not say more as Bilbo and Bofur restarted their endless debate about pipeweeds in general, and this spiced blend in particular.

It was the perfect way to end an evening, comfortably sated and making Bilbo laugh as they shared a pipe.

Traveling to the Blue Mountains was wonderful, because Bilbo was wonderful. It wasn't always easy, and it _would_ get harder once they reached Nurgathol, but that was a worry for another day.

Now there was spiced pipeweed and Bilbo laughing, and later there would be closeness and maybe kissing in the dark.

Bilbo was wonderful, and he was finally with Bofur now, and nothing could be better.


	13. the sea

Bilbo saw the sea.

It wasn't _really_ the open sea, Morien told him, just the gulf of Lune, but the water was salty and there were _waves_ and pretty shells on the sandy beach once he'd wandered a bit away from the port town of Southhaven. Bofur was settling up what they owed to Rhodri and Bilbo left him to it while he went exploring, arranging to meet at the inn later. 

Morien came with him, the Man laughing at his enthusiasm for the sand and the fishy-salty smell of the air and the waves and his desire to pick up a pretty shell or two to keep – though he kept changing his mind on which ones he wanted. 

The water was cold even though the sun was warm, and once Bilbo's feet were too cold for any more wading they sat on the beach and Bilbo poked through his collection of shells, trying to pick just _two_. 

Morien had taken his shirt off to soak up the sun, and ended up explaining all his tattoos to Bilbo when he caught him looking – he'd turned himself into a map of the world with darker ink against his dark skin, every piece from a different place. 

“Come with me.” He said, smiling at Bilbo. “Come taste the spices of Harad and all the fruits of the islands. I could make a sea-cook of you.” 

It was almost tempting to see more of the world, the ports and islands Morien had spoken so fondly of, if he weren't traveling with Bofur – but if he _weren't_ with Bofur he would still be mourning alone in Bag End. 

“No thank you, I'm heading for the mountains with Bofur.” He said, but he smiled to soften it and Morien just chuckled softly. 

“Nothing will convince you to come to sea?” He asked, leaning in closer when Bilbo shook his head in answer, “No? Then how about just _one_ night with me?” 

Bilbo was staring at Morien in shock, and _oh goodness_ the Man seemed to be serious. That... that wouldn't actually physically _work..._ would it? No. No it wouldn't. Taking a Dwarf had been ambitious enough, Bilbo didn't even want to _think_ about anything bigger. 

And besides, Bilbo was with _Bofur_ , sweet lovely Bofur. He didn't want to even think about trying anyone else, especially not a Man – _it would never fit_ – and there was no way he would want to give to someone else, no matter how friendly, something he _still_ hadn't managed to have with Bofur.

If he were to make love again, he wanted it to be with _Bofur_ , when they were both ready. 

“No.” Bilbo said firmly. “Flattered, but no.” 

“You break my heart.” Morien said lightly, but that wasn't true. He _might_ be slightly disappointed, but Bilbo had seen himself break Bofur's heart and this wasn't anywhere near _that_. 

Bilbo busied himself with his gathered shells again, wishing away the sudden awkwardness. 

“How long have you been with Bofur?” Morien asked, and Bilbo's fingers stuttered over the shells he was organizing. They'd been _so careful_... 

“We've known each other for _years_.” He answered, but Morien nudged at him with a laugh. 

“You have been very shh, but you can tell _me._ Some might not like it, but why should I judge? How do you think Rhodri convinced me to leave the sea?” 

The caravan leader and the cook _did_ share a wagon, but Bilbo hadn't really thought anything of that... but _wait_...

“If you're with Rhodri, _why_ were you trying to seduce me?” Bilbo asked. 

“Variety is the sweetest part of life.” Morien grinned, “He gave me permission. I might never have another chance at a Hobbit! You turned me down, he wins his wager. I might _still_ win mine if you will tell me how long you have been with Bofur...” He wheedled. 

“...since the morning before we joined the caravan.” Bilbo confessed, quietly. 

“Ah, new love.” Morien sighed, “Rhodri wins again, the way you argue I was sure it was years. Here...” He pointed to two of the shells Bilbo had whittled his selection down to, “these two. This kind is common, up and down the coast, but it is a pretty one. This one is more rare, you could only have picked it up in the gulf of Lune.” 

“Thank you.” Bilbo said, they _were_ very nice shells, and the conversation turned to the different shells Morien had seen in his travels, the awkwardness subsiding as they made their way back to Southhaven to meet back up with Bofur and Rhodri. 

 

It didn't seem like Bofur was in a big hurry to get to Nurgathol to see Bombur and take care of the responsibilities he had there. They'd stayed a few days in Southhaven – not that Bilbo minded that, he enjoyed being able to take a real bath and sleeping in a real bed – and now they'd made camp very early instead of pushing on to reach Nurgathol the next day. It would be a several-day trip, at this rate. Marigold didn't seem to mind, grazing on grass nearby, and Bilbo and Bofur were kissing by the pile of dry wood that was going to become their campfire. 

Things had, actually, progressed a bit further than _kissing_. Bilbo was straddling Bofur where he sat, the top two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, moaning quietly at the feel of Bofur's lips and beard on his neck, Bofur's hands under his shirt. Bofur's hat had been knocked off and his braids were half-undone from Bilbo's stroking fingers. Bofur's shirt was partially open too and Bilbo's fingers caught and petted the thick curls he found there. 

They'd talked about what Morien had offered Bilbo. Bilbo hadn't thought much of it, but it had made Bofur surprisingly uncomfortable when he'd told him the story. Hobbits didn't have a 'One' the way Dwarves did, and it worried Bofur that Bilbo might choose to leave him. Bilbo had managed to assure him that while he might not have a 'One', he was perfectly capable of fidelity. It had been an uncomfortable conversation, but it had ended with kissing and the first time Bilbo let Bofur kiss his neck, and _that_ was so pleasurable Bilbo could not regret it at all. 

Things had been progressing steadily since they left the caravan and didn't have to be silent anymore – snuggling together in an actual bed in the Southhaven inn had been very enjoyable. Bofur seemed content to follow Bilbo's lead, happily exploring anything Bilbo offered but quick to back off if it became _too much_. 

Bofur felt _so good_ , no one had ever focused so intensely on what Bilbo _liked_ this way. It was almost intimidating, but there was no room to become self-conscious with Bofur's continual murmured appreciation of everything he touched. It was _different_ , now that they weren't being silent, to hear everything that was going through Bofur's mind as they kissed and touched. 

He shouldn't have been surprised by it. It was almost embarrassingly sweet to listen to Bofur's murmured odes to the perfection of his lips, or his overgrown curls, the smooth softness of his skin, or like now – the sound of his moans as Bofur's kisses on his neck drove him to the edge of madness. 

Bilbo _wanted_... his fingers quickly undoing another two buttons on Bofur's shirt, revealing more of Bofur's powerful chest to his hands. He loved these muscles, loved the hair covering them, loved Bofur murmuring praises to his hands as he explored, loved all the ways Bofur already knew how to make him feel _amazing_. If Bofur could do _this_ with what Bilbo already allowed him, how perfect might it be if he gave him _everything_. 

He wanted Bofur _so much_ , kissed the Dwarf's cheek as far down as he could reach until Bofur lifted his head to kiss him properly, the pupils of his warm brown eyes wide with his own arousal. Bilbo had one hand buried in the messy braids of Bofur's rough hair, his other stroking Bofur's chest while he kissed him deep. 

They both jumped when Marigold whickered to greet horses on the path. Bofur and Bilbo weren't _visible_ from the path, but they certainly weren't anywhere _private_.

Bofur was the one to start laughing as Bilbo could feel himself turning bright red with embarrassment at having forgotten himself so much. They could hear the riders of the horses talking to each other quietly as they rode past. Bofur's hands slid out from under his shirt with one last affectionate squeeze to his middle, and Bilbo buttoned Bofur's shirt back up. 

_Really_ , was he a hormonal _tween_ to have been considering making love to Bofur for the first time out in the open in the dirt and the rocks?... if he _did_ want to make love to him _now_. As his head cleared, free of the influence of Bofur's hands and mouth, he wasn't so sure anymore. He rested his forehead affectionately against Bofur's, and the Dwarf nuzzled noses with him, the corners of his eyes crinkled up with a smile. 

“We shouldn't, yet.” Bilbo decided quietly. He didn't want to rush, with Bofur. He would like his first time with him to be in an actual _bed_ , with comfort and privacy. He should probably also wait until he felt sure it would be a good idea when Bofur _wasn't_ kissing him. 

He didn't want to fall in too fast again. 

Not that he thought this was going to go _wrong_ that way... but since when did fear make sense?

“Only when you're ready.” Bofur agreed gently, resettling himself to be more comfortable and pulling Bilbo forward to lie against him. 

It was wonderfully warm and comfortable, and they didn't have anything to _do_ for the rest of the day, other than get a fire started and make their dinner later.

Bilbo smiled as he settled in for a good long snuggle and maybe a nap. 

Maybe some more kissing later, too.

Life was good and there was nothing they had to do. They didn't have to hide anymore. Even when they reached Nurgathol they wouldn't have to – Dwarves _understood_ that two men could love each other. Bilbo was looking forward to seeing Bombur and Nori and Dwalin again, too. 

It was going to be wonderful.


	14. Nurgathol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur and Bilbo make it to the Dwarven city of Nurgathol

Nurgathol.

Bofur had been feeling it in his boots for days, the old familiar pull of the stone of the Blue Mountains. It didn't have the solid grandeur of Erebor, but it was homey – comfortable – even if comfortable was the last thing Bofur was.

There had only been so long he could delay his return.

Nurgathol, spilling out of the mountain, solid homes built of the crumbled stonework of their ancestors. Bilbo was wide-eyed as they walked through into Nurgathol proper, beneath the shelter of the uncollapsed half of the great cavern.

Nurgathol, built of the ruins of Gabilgathol. Bofur had tried to describe it to him, but no description did it justice. Bilbo looked nervously up at the overhanging cavern roof, but there was no reason to worry. It had taken the War of Wrath for Gabilgathol to fall, and nothing short of that would bring any more down.

It had been built by _Dwarves_ , after all.

Bofur knew these stones, the caverns and mines of this mountain. It was nothing to the richness of _Erebor_ , but it felt like coming home as they walked into the mountain.

Bilbo's hand found its way into Bofur's and he gave it a squeeze as he smiled down at Bilbo, who smiled back, a sparkle in those perfect dark blue eyes.

They'd been so _happy_ as they traveled, and lost in how _good_ it was to have Bilbo, Bofur could ignore the reality of what he'd done. He could taste the hammering of Bilbo's pulse under his lips, feel the softness of his skin as the Hobbit squirmed and moaned in his lap – he could lose himself in the sweet sensuality of that, and he didn't have to think about what he'd done. They were among Dwarves again now, though, and it would not be easy anymore.

Bilbo wasn't a Dwarf, he couldn't possibly be blamed, but _Bofur_ could.

To court another Dwarf's One, someone who had already chosen, _especially_ if who they had chosen and been chosen _by_ were a well-loved _King_...

Bofur held Bilbo's hand a little tighter as they walked, following Bofur's boots home. He loved Bilbo, he'd always loved Bilbo, and Bilbo wanted to be with him.

If only that would be _enough_.

Maybe he shouldn't have brought Bilbo here, but the only other option had been leaving him behind and Bofur could never chose to do that, if he had a _choice_.

They'd left Marigold with an hostler Bofur knew would see the pony well treated until they chose to leave again, and walked into Nurgathol together with their packs on their backs. Bilbo smiled and asked questions, which Bofur answered as they walked. The streets were less crowded than they had been, with all those who had left for Erebor reclaimed, but still full of life. Fewer had chosen to move to Erebor than anyone had expected – part of why Bofur was back here.

They turned away from the main paths that would have led them deeper under the cavern, toward the palace, and Bofur led the way through the winding streets and finally around to the house that had been home for so many years – ever since Bombur married Mirra and they'd carved out and built up enough space in her family's home for _everyone_.

It looked like Mirra's brothers weren't home, on one of their hunting trips probably. The upper levels of the house looked abandoned, and Bofur smiled at the curved staircase and the balcony he'd built to above his bedroom as he pointed it out to Bilbo. It was a good place to sit and have a quiet smoke, and it was perfectly placed to catch the morning sun as it entered the great cavern.

Bofur gave Bilbo's hand one last squeeze – and then gave him a quick peck on the lips for good measure – before he knocked on the door.

It was Bombur's eldest, red-haired Forra, who opened the door. The little one blinked at Bofur twice before squealing and pouncing on him.

Forra's shriek of “Uncle Bofur!” brought the rest of the household running, of course. Bofur shifted Forra to the side to pick Sorra up too, and set them aside to hug Mirra.

He noticed immediately and stepped back with a laugh, “Mirra?” he asked in disbelief, a hand on her growing belly, and she laughed and nodded in confirmation.

“Bombur you _dog_.” Bofur crowed, they certainly hadn't wasted _any_ time making another baby! Bombur blushed, pleased, as Bofur hugged him and little blond Borra in his arms.

“Hello!” Bilbo greeted cheerfully from the doorway, forgotten in the family reunions.

“ _Bofur._..” Bombur didn't need more than one word to express his disappointment and disapproval as he noticed him. Bombur had always disapproved, even though he knew as well as anyone that you couldn't help who you loved.

“Mirra, Forra Sorra Borra....” Bofur grinned, stepping back to stand beside Bilbo, an affectionate hand on the Hobbit's shoulder, “This is Bilbo Baggins.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Bilbo said politely, smiling at how wide-eyed the little ones were staring at his hairless face and beautiful pointy ears and cute furry feet.

Mirra gave Bofur a pitying look, but smiled at Bilbo. “Come on in, welcome, let's see if we can find any food for you...” She lead the way into the house, followed by the little ones like ducklings.

“Nori made a lot of money on this.” Bombur commented quietly as Bofur walked past him, and all he could do was laugh at that, because of _course_ Nori had.

“Did he now? I'll have to ask him what his odds were!” he said, “Even _I_ wouldn't have bet on it.”

 

Once the little ones' curiosity was satisfied with stories about the Shire and Hobbits and they'd been sent off to visit a friend, Mirra and Bombur settled in to catch up with Bofur and Bilbo.

“We'll clear out Bifur's old room for you to stay in.” Mirra told Bilbo, clearly trying to hold onto her optimism, trying not to believe what was painfully obvious.

“I thought I would stay with...” Bilbo's eyes turned to Bofur, the first beginnings of confusion in them. Bofur hadn't been able to _warn_ him, even skirting too close to the topic had had Bilbo retreating into anger and hurt, and Bofur...

Bofur had wanted every happy second he could steal.

“He'll be staying with me.” Bofur said cheerfully, “My bed's a little small, but we can fit another one into my room, can't we?”

“...oh...” Mirra said softly, while Bombur looked away and sighed. “This isn't going to make _anything_ any better or easier.” She said.

“What?” Bilbo asked, “What isn't _easy?”_ and Bofur nodded in agreement with him, _that_ hadn't been the response he expected. The disappointment, yes, but not some _other_ complication that he was making worse.

“Everything.” Bombur said, a little despondently. “You haven't _been_ here...”

“Dwalin has pledged his axes to Lady Dis and princess Leis, but Lady Dis will not speak to him. She will not speak to _anyone_ about Erebor or the quest.” Mirra said, her normally cheerful face serious, “She's cold in her grief. Her rule is still fair, but she's _cold_.”

“Dwalin and Nori are fighting.” Bombur added.

“Fighting would imply they're _speaking_.” Mirra corrected.

Dwalin and Nori weren't speaking? It normally wasn't possible to _separate_ them, what could have _done_ that to them?

Dwalin pledging his axes to Lady Dis... that couldn't really be a surprise. He liked King Dain well enough, but of course his first loyalty was to the descendants of Thror.

“And people wanting to leave to Erebor...?” Bofur asked, and Bombur's expression told him everything he needed to know about how well _that_ was going.

“Not everyone approves of King Dain.” Bombur said.

“He's a good King.” Bofur defended. Dain Ironfoot ruled Erebor fairly, even if his heart was in the Iron Hills, and he'd even offered to give the throne there up to Lady Dis!

“That may be.” Mirra said, standing and taking their empty plates to the sink, “But there are those of us who's loyalty has _always_ been to the Lady.”

...and she would be one of them, of course. She hadn't wanted Bombur going on the quest, and now he'd come back to pick her up and she'd gotten pregnant. It would be _years_ before the new little one was big enough to travel that far, years for her to convince Bombur not to go...

That thought wasn't fair to her, though. It took more than _one_ to make a baby.

Bilbo chose that moment to yawn, and Mirra nodded to him.

“We'll get a bed moved up to Bofur's room for you now,” She said, “before I take an evening shift at the forge. I've got this piece that....” she gestured to her head, meaning she had something she _had_ to try to make just to get it out of her head.

It wasn't the easiest to get a bed up the stairs and into Bofur's room, but between all of them they managed. Bombur and Mirra had set it up across the room from Bofur's bed, and he couldn't tell if it was because they disapproved or because they just hadn't thought about it.

It was alright, though. It would help keep him from pushing Bilbo, help keep things slow.

Bilbo and Bofur unpacked their things and made themselves comfortable while Mirra left for the forge.

Bombur went back downstairs, but not before whispering “Dwalin won't like this.” to Bofur.

“He doesn't have to.” Bofur whispered back, braver than he felt. He would like to think that he and Bilbo were strong enough not to need anyone's approval – but Dwalin was influential and _terrifying_ when he was angry.

He didn't even want to think about what Lady Dis might do if she disapproved, and why wouldn't she?

“Should Mirra really be working in a forge while she's... I mean, she _is_ pregnant? I understood that right?” Bilbo asked, pulling Bofur out of his thoughts.

“Mirra knows her limits.” Bofur assured him. Later on she wouldn't be able to do any heavy work and she wouldn't be happy with that _at all_ , but it was so early still she would be fine with almost _anything._

Bilbo and Bofur didn't have a lot of things to unpack, so they were done quickly. Bofur had been about to say that he should go drinking at a few of his favorite pubs, to meet old friends and hear how things were in Nurgathol for himself, but he only got as far as “I should” when he was being kissed.

Bilbo's lips were so deliciously soft against Bofur's with those hungry little nibbling kisses that never failed to make Bofur melt – and all thought left him. He went easily when Bilbo backed him toward the bed.

He really _should_ go out to see what the situation was like in Nurgathol for himself, he would be able to hear different things than Mirra or Bombur would – maybe he could even track down Nori, _he_ always knew everything – but for the moment he had a warm snugly Hobbit crawling on top of him and _that_ was the most important thing in the world.

Business could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention that I am borrowing headcanon for Bombur's family from my A Ladle and some Stew fic - though most of the worldbuilding in that fic doesn't apply in this one.  
> I also shamelessly stole Mirra's name from charliechick117.


	15. lamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is seen, and a discussion is had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!WARNINGS!!!  
>  this fic is now tagged with "PAST RAPE"  
> It is briefly and non-graphically discussed.  
> also a touch of voyeurism.  
> please be warned.

Bilbo had only been sleeping lightly, in the unfamiliar bed, so Bofur coming in woke him up. Bilbo had left a small lamp burning for him, not that the Dwarf would _need_ the extra light, but it made _Bilbo_ feel better about going to bed without him.

Bofur had wanted to go out and see for himself how things were in Nurgathol, but Bilbo had been tired from travel and decided to stay in and visit with Bombur and his children. Bombur seemed so much happier and more comfortable than he'd been on the quest, with his children around his legs and a toddler perched on his hip hitting him over the head with a wooden spoon.

He certainly didn't seem _happy_ for Bofur and Bilbo, which was a touch confusing. He hadn't said much about it, just asked Bilbo _why_ he came with Bofur.

Bilbo _knew_ his ears were turning red with a blush as he tried to describe how _good_ Bofur was to him.

Bombur had given a small sigh with a nod, and changed the subject. Things were easier when his wife Mirra came home from the forge, smelling like fire and scorched metal. She spoke brightly of the piece she was crafting, and Bilbo had drawn her into conversation about her home, which she was proud of, and rightfully so. The first rooms had been carved out and built up by her mother, more added on as the family grew. It was beautiful in the way Nurgathol was beautiful – not the pristine beauty of Erebor, something looser and more organic than that.

Bilbo had spent an enjoyable evening visiting with Mirra... he'd never met a Darrowdam before. He was a bit embarrassed to realize that he wouldn't have known she _was_ one if Bofur hadn't told him. She didn't have as much beard as Bombur, but she certainly had more than Bofur! It was a lovely color, her hair, red-gold, and she kept it braided up close because of her work, but the patterns she kept it in were elegantly intricate.

Even Darrowdams were brawnier and hairier than Bilbo, and it made him feel a _little_ self-conscious. No wonder the Company had been slow to accept him, when he looked like a child – a _young_ child.

They had accepted him, though, in the end, and Bofur even loved him despite it.

He'd only been sleeping lightly, so Bofur's return woke him. The tiny lamp Bilbo had left lit to light Bofur's way back gave just barely enough light for him to see Bofur as he peeked at the Dwarf drowsily through his lashes.

Bofur was weaving slightly – drunk then – it must have been nice for him to meet up with old friends. At least he was a cheerful drunk, no doubt he'd spent some time singing and dancing on tables.

He bumped into the bottom of Bilbo's bed, steadying himself on the footboard. His eyes traveled up Bilbo's blanket-covered body, and he sighed with a smile as though he were just _so happy_ he couldn't keep it in, his whole craggy face glowing with it.

Bilbo was _sure_ his blush would give away that he was awake, but Bofur didn't seem to notice. Bofur moved around the corner of the bed, reaching for Bilbo, but then drew his hand back to himself sharply with a murmured 'no' and instead moved the few steps to flop onto his own bed.

He kicked his boots off onto the floor, flinching at the sound they made when they fell and telling them to 'shh'. He took off most of his clothes and drew a blanket haphazardly over himself, closing his eyes with another contented sigh, his flop-eared hat still on his head.

That would have been that, Bilbo might have fallen the rest of the way back to sleep with the lamp still on because the blankets were _too cozy_ to reach out to snuff it out, if he had not heard a strange sound where he teetered just on the edge of sleep.

He heard it again, and he cracked an eye open. It _sounded_ like a soft groan... was Bofur in pain?

It took him a few moments of sleepily watching the Dwarf, and hearing that quiet moan again, to realize what Bofur was doing. Instantly all of the blood in Bilbo's body rushed to his face and he snapped his eyes closed.

Bofur was being quiet and he clearly thought Bilbo was asleep, he most definitely didn't need Bilbo watching him pleasure himself.

His eyes were closed and he _tried_ not to listen, but he could still hear the soft rustling of the blankets, Bofur's slightly strained breaths, and the occasional quiet moans that seemed to fill the small room.

Bofur was pleasuring himself _right there_ , so very close, and what of Bilbo's blood hadn't gone to his face instead traveled to his groin. He knew, of course, that Bofur went on 'walks' at night a few times during their trip, but this was different. Knowing that and being a witness to it were two very different things.

It wasn't _such_ a shocking thing, either, though. This _was_ Bofur's room and it wasn't as though Bofur's tender kisses on their journey hadn't riled Bilbo up enough that he took solace in his own hand now and then, when they were lying even _closer_ together, but Hobbits could be _quiet_ and he'd always made sure Bofur was steadily snoring before he did anything.

A gasped whimper from Bofur pulled Bilbo's eyelids open again, and he nearly gave himself away with a gasp of his own.

It wasn't as though he hadn't seen Bofur shirtless before, but he'd always tried not to _look_ , and it had never been like _this_. Bofur's solid body arched up into the plucking fingers on his nipple, pulling hard enough on it Bilbo's own chest ached in aroused sympathy. The golden light of the lamp gleamed soft across his furry chest and belly, the vulnerable-looking softness of his hairless sides, but Bilbo's vision was cut off by the blanket _just_ before Bofur's hips. He pushed his face back into the pillow in embarrassment as he caught himself trying to change his angle to _see_.

It wasn't like he'd never seen Bofur naked before – but never like this. He'd always tried not to look and Bofur had never been _aroused_. He did have _some_ idea of Bofur's dimensions – bigger than his, no surprise – from rubbing against him through their clothes sometimes as they kissed, but Bofur did not tend to let him do that much, keeping himself tucked out of the way.

Bofur was still teasing at his gold-pierced nipples, switching from one to the other as he squirmed and thrust up into his hand – such muscular grace in his body Bilbo wanted to reach out and _touch._ What would he look like beneath that blanket? Bilbo had never _seen_ his aroused cock, and his eyes were caught by the rhythmic rise and fall of Bofur's hand beneath the blankets. _Definitely_ bigger than Bilbo's... would it be pale or would it be dark and red with blood? Would it be thick or narrow? Thick, oh thick and red almost _certainly_ , an aching stretch to...

...oh goodness, Bilbo was _most certainly not_ going to lay here thrusting against the mattress while he fantasized about Bofur's cock.

He forced himself to close his eyes again as he carefully shifted his hips away from the bed so he could get no friction, but he could still _hear_ Bofur moving, those little choked moans as the speed of the rustling increased.

It went on and on... Bilbo could _never_ have lasted so long... and he made himself close his eyes again every time they opened and he saw things he shouldn't be seeing – the sweat that was beginning to bead on Bofur's chest and belly, his head thrown back to bare his neck, the way his body moved under the lamplight.... Bilbo tried not to see or think about it but it was a losing fight, his groin ached in sympathetic want. Bofur was so far gone in his own pleasure he probably wouldn't even _notice_ if Bilbo grabbed one of his pocket handkerchiefs and pleasured himself.

He probably _would_ notice if Bilbo walked over and pulled the blanket off of him to _see_ , licked the sweat from his chest and took over where Bofur's hands were.

…and if Bilbo had thought he couldn't get any more aroused and embarrassed before, that thought did it.

Bilbo bit his lip and kept himself still in his bed. Not only had Bofur not _invited_ him, he was _drunk_... oh, but it was tempting.

“... _Bilbo_!” Bofur's whimper of his name made Bilbo's eyes snap back open, only to see Bofur's body arching up and trembling in his climax, one hand still on his groin beneath the blankets and the other shoved into his mouth to bite as he shuddered his way through.

He'd... he'd brought himself off with Bilbo's name on his lips. Green Lady have mercy, it sent such a surge of _want_ to Bilbo's already aching groin he nearly whimpered himself.

Bofur lay panting for a moment, then there was the rustling of cloth as he cleaned himself up – using a piece of his dirty clothes no doubt – and then the moving of blankets with a contented sigh.

His familiar snores started up almost immediately.

Bilbo's hand sneaked out of the blankets, picking up the lantern snuffer and very _very_ quietly placing it over the lamp, killing the flame and leaving them in darkness.

Bofur's snores did not change in cadence in the least.

Bilbo's hand picked up one of his pocket handkerchief's on the way back into his bed – there was _no way_ he would be able to sleep without at least _one_ , just to take the edge off.

...but in the morning, they _would_ have to talk about it.

Bilbo wasn't sure if he'd be _able_ to right away, but they had comfort and privacy now, and he _wanted_ to be able to share this with Bofur instead of them both taking care of themselves alone. He wanted to try.

 

Bofur slept in, which was understandable considering the night he'd had. Bilbo had gotten to know his habits well while he was living with him in Bag End, so he knew about what time he'd want breakfast.

He sat up on Bofur's balcony in the morning sun, looking over the impressive expanse of Nurgathol. With the sunlight streaming into the great cavern he could see more of the ceiling, could tell that there had _once_ been walkways crisscrossing the expanse, the way there were in Erebor. It made him a little nervous that more would fall, but Bofur had assured him that that was impossible - and he would know more than Bilbo, being a Dwarf and all.

When he knew Bofur would be wanting his breakfast soon he ambled down the stairs and into the house. With Bombur and Forra's help he made up a tray of breakfast with fresh bread and beans and strong tea, and carried it up to the bedroom.

Bofur had pulled his hat over his eyes and was groaning despondently about the evil light, but he perked up slightly at the smell of the food. Bilbo sat on the edge of the bed and sympathetically petted his cheek for a moment before starting him with the tea.

He waited until they had finished the food and Bofur no longer seemed half-dead, and was dressed, before he brought the subject up.

“Bofur...” he said gently, resting his hand on Bofur's as they sat on the edge of his bed. “Last night...” He was completely unprepared for the look of horror that crossed Bofur's face.

“I didn't... I didn't _hurt_ you?...” His eyes darted as though he were searching his drink-fogged memory as hard as he could, “I _didn't_....”

“No, no...” Bilbo assured him, “You went to your own bed, you didn't _touch_ me.”

Bofur's relief was tangible in the relaxation of his shoulders and the small smile he gave Bilbo. Bilbo smiled back as he gave Bofur's hand a squeeze.

“You _did_ give me quite the show, though. I tried not to watch, but...” Bilbo could feel himself turning red around the ears. Confessing that he'd _looked_ was just as embarrassing as he'd feared, but he wouldn't feel right about it if he didn't.

“I'm sorry, Bilbo.” Bofur said, rubbing at his face with the hand Bilbo wasn't holding. “If you want to have a different room...”

“No, it's quite all right.” Bilbo said quickly, “I... I didn't _mind_...” and he gave Bofur's hand another squeeze even as he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears with how red his face was turning. Best to get it all out at once.

“I think we should have sex. We should try. Seems a bit silly, both of us wanting each other separately in the dark? If you want... I can _try_...” He'd thought it through, but it hadn't come out as confident as he'd expected it to. It was one thing to _imagine_ telling someone you're ready for more, and another to actually _do it_. It was said. It was _real_ now and he couldn't take it back.

“Bilbo...” Bofur gently swept the overgrown curls out of Bilbo's face, his expression so sad and serious... _that_ wasn't the expression Bilbo had expected.

“You don't have to push yourself for me.” he said softy, “I'll be alright, even if you're _never_ ready... after what Thorin...” his voice choked off and he closed his eyes, shaking his head as he took a deep breath.

His shoulders were hunched in as he continued, his voice growing even quieter, “You don't have to push yourself for me. I _understand_. I...” his eyes closed again as he finished, “I _know_ what it's like to be smaller... pinned down... _forced_.” he ended on a whisper, his lips trembling. Bilbo did the only thing he could think to do and threw his arms around him in a hug as tight as he could.

Thankfully it did not seem to be the _wrong_ thing to have done, with Bofur hugging him back just as tight.

Bilbo realized the whispers of 'no no no' were from _him_ and made himself stop, nuzzling against Bofur's rough braids.

...Bofur who was so sweet and so gentle and so _good_ , how could _anyone_... what kind of a _monster_ could...

And he thought Thorin had.

...Bilbo could easily see why he'd think that, though. He'd been afraid of it himself, in the worst of it.

“Thorin didn't.” Bilbo said gently, rubbing Bofur's back, “I'm not saying he _wouldn't_ have, but I hid, and you helped me, and he _didn't_.”

“...he didn't... oh, Bilbo!” Bofur squeezed him tighter. “I just wanted to protect you and I thought...”

“You _did._ ” Bilbo promised, “You kept me safe. Thorin did a _lot_ of things, but he never... I was _never_ forced.”

Bofur made a small whimper, still holding on tight, and Bilbo rubbed his back and cuddled close into him.

Bilbo had never been, but Bofur _had_ , and Bilbo felt entirely justified in wanting to slip on his ring and hunt down the orc-spawn who'd done it, whoever they were – give them a taste of Sting where they wouldn't forget it.

They ended up holding each other for what must have been a long time, just holding each other, just being _close_ , until Bofur drew back with a small smile.

Bofur ran a thumb across Bilbo's cheek and just smiled at him, a sadness in his warm brown eyes seeming to be lifted.

“You're alright?” Bilbo asked, returning the gesture. Bofur nodded once.

“It was a _long_ time ago... before you were born. I've had good lovers since then... I'm fine.” he assured Bilbo, “and Bifur took care of...” there was something hard and a little ugly in Bofur's expression for just a moment.

“Good.” Bilbo said, with maybe more venom than he intended, which made Bofur laugh. Bilbo hoped Bifur's boar-spear had been involved in his 'taking care of'. He was _vicious_ with that thing.

Bofur lay back on the bed, tugging Bilbo with him. He followed to lay his head on Bofur's broad chest, blushing a little as he remembered his desire to lick the sweat from it last night, as Bofur began to pet his head and arm and shoulder where he could easily reach.

“I _would_ like to try making love with you.” Bilbo said gently, “If you want... _I_ want.”

“You do?” Bofur said, a question in his tone inviting Bilbo to elaborate.

“Last night I...” Bilbo was back to blushing, but there was no help for it, “I wanted _so badly_ to pull the blankets off you, and taste, and _feel_.... I wanted you so much I had to bring myself off too once you fell asleep.”

Bofur groaned in a way that was very similar to how he'd been groaning last night as his hands tightened on Bilbo for a moment before he resumed petting.

“And you're sure you really _want_ to?” he asked.

“I do.” Bilbo said, rubbing his cheek against Bofur's chest affectionately, “It does worry me a little, of course, but I trust you. I know you'll take care of me. I want to _try._ I love you, and I _want_ to be able to share that with you.”

Bofur took a sharp inward breath, his heart suddenly pounding under Bilbo's ear as his petting hands froze.

“Bofur?” He asked nervously. Had he said something wrong?

“...you _love?_..” Bofur breathed.

Had he never said it aloud before? It had happened so gradually, he'd left Bag End with a very dear friend he wanted to kiss and be close to and it wouldn't have felt quite _true_ to say he _loved_ him then. Now here he was in Nurgathol with Bofur, and he wanted _everything_ with Bofur for the rest of his life. He couldn't quite pick out any one moment when it had become 'love', but he couldn't call it any other thing now and be true.

“I love you, Bofur.” Bilbo said firmly. Bofur had given him those words so many times and he'd never given them back, and that was just _cruel_.

“ _Bilbo._..” Bofur's arms wrapped around him tight, his voice more than half a sob.

He didn't need any more words, and neither did Bilbo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *posts chapter and flees before losing nerve and deleting the whole thing*


	16. maze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori is a little shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings this chapter for past abusive relationship and someone being triggered.  
> This is not a nice chapter.  
> Read with caution.

Bilbo was lost.

Nurgathol was beautiful, but the streets wound around oddly and were not labeled in any way Bilbo could see.

He must have taken a wrong turn.

Bofur had left to meet some people, and Bilbo got directions from Bombur to go meet him. He had a few scones wrapped in a napkin tucked into his pocket to share with him for tea, but at this rate it would be well past teatime by the time he found him.

...if he ever found him at all...

Nurgathol was a maze, and trying to retrace his steps only seemed to get him more lost. He tried to navigate by paying attention to what part of the cavern he was under, but all the streets curved around in the wrong directions and he couldn't seem to go the way he wanted to.

He was wandering down a poorly-lit crooked little street that made him feel claustrophobic when there was suddenly a body pressed tight to the back of his.

Whoever it was dodged the elbows he instinctively threw to dislodge them. He felt the unmistakeable cold press of a blade against his throat and Bilbo froze, heart pounding. The mithril coat hidden under his clothes would protect him from a knife in the back, but his throat was so horribly vulnerable...

“This is not a place for pretty Hobbits to wander alone.” was purred quietly into his ear.

“Nori, get _off_ me!” Bilbo snapped, and the Dwarf laughed as he released him, spinning him around to see. Nori looked the same as ever, hair up in three peaks, though maybe less tall than he remembered, and something in his eyes saying he was laughing at a joke nobody else had heard.

“Stay close if you want to live.” Nori grinned, and took off into an alley. Bilbo might not quite _trust_ Nori, he was always unpredictable, but following him was better than being _lost_.

...and he might be telling the truth that Bilbo was in danger if he didn't follow. He liked to think that he could take care of himself – he had Sting and he'd survived a lot on the quest – but Nori _had_ managed to sneak up on him.

Nori took odd twists in the path Bilbo would never have seen, climbed hidden stairways that were hardly more than a series of nubs on the dark side of a building and darted across rooftops, kept on going until Bilbo would have been well and truly lost even if he _hadn't_ been lost already.

Finally he settled into a darkened grotto and Bilbo settled in beside him. Nori gestured him to silence, looking and listening hard for long moments before he flashed Bilbo a smile and leaned back to begin casually eating a scone from a linen napkin...

Bilbo's hand closed on his empty pocket and snatched the napkin and scones from Nori's hands – the Dwarf was laughing at him.

He wrapped them up and shoved them back into his pocket... except for the one Nori had bitten. He was almost tempted to throw it on the ground in spite, but he couldn't really justify wasting food so he gave it back to Nori. He quickly checked, but nothing else of his seemed to be missing from his pockets, and Nori was laughing at him even harder now.

“Those were for _Bofur_.” he hissed, not sure how quiet they were having to be right now.

“So it _is_ true...” Nori mused, eyes sharp as they assessed Bilbo briefly before peering out of their grotto again, searching the dark, “Brave... or stupid.” he was toying with a knife in his fingers, the small blade flashing as he flipped it over and over.

“Where's Dwalin?” Bilbo asked. The big warrior always seemed to steady Nori, and he'd always been protective of Bilbo – even from the start of the Quest, even before he and most of the Company _liked_ Bilbo.

Once Bilbo got over being afraid of him Dwalin tended to make him feel _safe_ , and safe was not how Nori was making him feel.

Nori made his knife disappear with a sneer, “With Maylin, where else would he be?”

Maylin... Dwalin's daughter, that was right.

“...and why aren't you?” Bilbo asked. From the stories Bofur told of Erebor they were inseparable. Bombur had mentioned that they were fighting, but Bilbo hadn't realized how bad it was until he saw the venom in the glare Nori gave him for just an instant before sniffing dismissively and beginning to juggle a different knife between his fingers as he looked back out into the dark.

“What am I to her? Just her father's favorite fuck.” His tone was bitter.

“But... wouldn't you be her father's One?” Bilbo asked. That _was_ how Bofur had described how Dwarves loved, wasn't it?

The blade was pointed at his face instantly, Nori's eyes hard, “There is _no such thing_ as a 'One'. It's a myth, an _ugly_ story, and all it does is hurt people.” he snapped.

Bilbo pressed himself back as far as he could away from the blade. Nori had always been unpredictable, but he hadn't remembered him being _this_ volatile.

“Bofur _said_ you didn't believe in love...” Bilbo said, and Nori snorted again, turning back to look into the dark, the knife juggling between his fingers again instead of pointing at Bilbo... which was a small relief, at least. It didn't make him any more _safe_ though, with how fast he was.

“You can believe in _love_ without believing in _Ones._ ” his tone made the final word into something dirty.

Nori glanced back at him, a line between his brows and nothing but confusion in his eyes now.

“You should know _that._ ” he mused, then turned back to the dark – to whatever it was he was watching for.

Bilbo decided that maybe the smartest thing would be to keep quiet until Nori took him back to somewhere he could get back to Mirra and Bombur's house from, to not accidentally antagonize Nori any further.

“...you _don't_ want to meet Dwalin, anyway.” Nori said, after a while. “ _I'm_ on your side. He isn't.”

“ _My_ side... what? I haven't _got_ a side.” Bilbo protested.

Nori glanced at him, and back out into the dark, and then back to him with his eyes widening as if he'd only just understood something.

He looked back out into the dark with a laugh that was not _pretty_.

“He didn't _tell_ you.” Nori purred.

“Who? Tell me what?” Bilbo demanded. He hadn't felt quite this lost in a conversation since the night a bakers-dozen Dwarves and a Wizard invited themselves into his house and claimed he was a burglar.

Nori looked up quickly, his knife flicking quickly through his fingers in a complex pattern before disappearing again.

“This way.” he hissed, darting out of their grotto, and Bilbo followed as they went through hidden holes in walls and up and down unseen stairways, stopping again in a dark alleyway. Nori peeked briefly around the corner before drawing quickly back.

“I don't have time to get you back to Bofur right now.” He whispered, “Stick to my side and don't say _anything_ if you want to survive.”

He was probably just being overdramatic, or playing a game, but Bilbo shut up and stayed close to his side when Nori swaggered around the corner. He greeted a few other Dwarves expansively, all of them eying each other distrust, before moving through the door into a poorly-lit tavern. Nori grabbed them a corner table, sprawling out on the bench and pulling Bilbo in close to his side as he ordered them ales.

The ale wasn't as terrible as it _could_ have been, but it certainly wasn't anything to be proud of. It was not long before other Dwarves began to come up to Nori, sitting at his other side to talk about things that made no sense to Bilbo, their shifty eyes darting everywhere.

Bilbo shifted away – closer to Nori, unfortunately – when a greasy Dwarf slid onto the bench beside him with a leer and his eyes all over Bilbo in a way that he _really_ didn't like.

“Back off...” Nori had reached across Bilbo with a knife faster than the eye could follow, his pleasant tone at odds with his freezing eyes as the tip of his blade teased with the hairs of the greasy Dwarf's beard. “This one's mine.”

The Dwarf swallowed hard once as he backed away and disappeared himself into the crowd.

Bilbo opened his mouth to protest, but the blade was still in Nori's hand and there was a warning in his eyes. He clenched his jaw, his fingers gripping his tankard so hard they ached, and Nori gave him a brief nod before returning to his nonsensical conversation.

It boiled sour in Bilbo's stomach. He did not belong to _anyone_. No one. He was a _person_ not a... an _object_ to be owned...

_Hitting the floor hard enough to have the breath knocked out of him, reeling from the unexpected blow, the hardest blue eyes cutting him like glass as he choked and gasped the air back into his aching lungs._

“ _You are_ mine _, halfling, and you will do as I say!”_

Bilbo's hands were shaking, the dregs of his unfinished ale sloshing in the cup, and the Dwarf Nori was talking to got up and left, leaving them alone.

“I don't belong to _anyone_.” Bilbo whispered, not caring that Nori told him he had to stay silent to survive this place. He _couldn't_.

Nori chuckled softly, “In _here_ , everyone belongs to someone.”

“... _you_ don't.” Bilbo contended, and Nori's smile was hard, a knife flicking briefly through his fingers.

“Not _anymore_.” He purred, summarily gesturing Bilbo back to silence as another Dwarf approached him.

He was not an object to be owned. He was his own person and he'd get away from Nori soon and get back to Bofur who would _never_...

Bofur would never do that, would he?

He wouldn't. He _couldn't_ , Bilbo would shatter if he did.

Nori's tap on his shoulder pulled him out of his misery, the Dwarf's eyes darting back and forth through the crowd in the dark tavern.

“Time to go.” he whispered, sliding back through the tavern with Bilbo close behind him, because what _else_ could he do? Stay here? They slipped behind a ratty curtain and through a small trapdoor, taking a rickety staircase up to the roof, then down a hidden stairway and through the twisted ways that seemed to be Nori's favored paths.

He was caught by surprise when Nori swaggered out into a street he _recognized_ , just one street away from Mirra and Bombur's house... and _there was Bofur_ , walking up the street, eyes going wide as he saw Bilbo with Nori.

“I found your Hobbit wandering down Quartz street!” Nori called cheerfully, putting an overly affectionate arm around Bilbo and completely ignoring the way Bilbo tried to squirm out from under it, “I kept him warm for you.”

and Bofur would not let Nori _say_ that, because he _knew_ that Bilbo didn't belong to anyone, he _wouldn't_...

But Bofur's eyes were only on Nori as he inhaled sharply, “Thank you...” he breathed, as Nori was pushing Bilbo toward him.

He _hadn't_.

No!

Bilbo did not belong to _anyone_ , just because he'd told him he _loved_ him, he had _no right_! He'd _known_ it would end poorly and the cracks through his chest opened wide open again.

He should never have left Bag End. He should never have let Bofur into his house.

He should _never_ have risked this.

Bofur's arms were opening for him where he stumbled from Nori's push but Bilbo's hands had closed into fists, the blood pounding loud in his ears.

He threw all his forward momentum into it as he punched Bofur as hard as he could.

“ _I don't belong to anyone!”_ it came out a scream, his right hand throbbing and Bofur staggering back from him. He turned and ran for Mirra's house as fast as he could.

He didn't look at Bofur's face, he _couldn't_ bear to see the madness in sweet _Bofur's_ eyes.

It would break him completely.


	17. Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long-due explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, there's going to be a few bad chapters in a row.

Bilbo hit Bofur, and it _hurt_ clear through. 

Not _physically_ , not more than a _little_ – he was a Dwarf, he was more worried about Bilbo's hand – but it hurt clear through his bones. 

If Bilbo was _that_ afraid... of _him_. 

“ _I don't belong to anyone.”_

And the _reason_ finally made sense to Bofur. “Bilbo!” He called after the fleeing Hobbit, but he did not turn. 

He should have realized _immediately_ , but he'd seen Bilbo pale and shaken beside Nori, and Nori had said 'Quartz street' and that he'd kept Bilbo warm, _alive_ , for him. 

Quartz street... so dangerous not even the _guard_ would go there, _how_ had Bilbo ended up there? Bofur was sick even _thinking_ about what could have happened to beautiful _Bilbo_ if Nori hadn't been there...

Bilbo had wandered into Quartz street, and he was _so lucky_ to be alive and unharmed, and Bofur was _so relieved_ that Nori had gotten him out of there that it wasn't until _after_ Bilbo hit him and screamed that he realized the words Nori had used. 

– and with Bilbo already _afraid_.

Bilbo ran from Bofur – toward home, at least – and Bofur turned on Nori. 

“If you _ever_ imply he belongs to somebody again, I'll _find_ a way to hurt you!” 

Nori's surprised confusion turned to sad understanding. The threat he ignored completely, and why _should_ he pay it any mind? He already had enemies _far_ more dangerous and cunning than Bofur would ever be. 

“You need to tell him the truth.” Nori said. “He needs to _know_ what he's got into, with you.” 

“He's not a Dwarf.” Bofur defended, even though he _knew_ it would be best for Bilbo to be prepared, “No one can expect him to act like one. It's _me_ that...” Bofur trailed off at Nori's shaking head. The thief sauntered over to lean against a wall out of the way of anyone wanting to use the road, gesturing Bofur over with a turn of his head while he began to pack a pipe. 

Bofur joined him, even though he wanted to go after Bilbo, to comfort him, to _explain_... but if Nori was _talking_ – the thief knew more than a little bit about _everything._ It was always best to know as much as he would share. 

“Maybe if it was just the likes of you and me, nobodies...” Nori said quietly, “but you're playing with _Royalty._ They can't let it go just because he's a Hobbit. It's too public already, it's not going to be hushed away. You need to warn him.” 

If Nori was being _this_ straightforward about something, it _must_ be a lot worse than Bofur had even realized it could get. 

They _couldn't_ blame Bilbo, he _wasn't_ a Dwarf. 

Could they?

“I've tried.” Bofur confessed, “I _tried_ to warn him, but you say anything that sounds like someone owns him and he...” he gestured where Bilbo had run off, the ache of that terrified blow sharp through him. He _never_ wanted to see Bilbo afraid like that. 

“Find a way.” Nori told him, his attention drifting from Bofur already, eyes searching through corners and shadows. He took something out of his pocket and handed it over, wrapped in a napkin. 

“He was bringing you these... they're good.” He said... scones as Bofur unwrapped the napkin to see. Bilbo had been bringing him _tea_ and he'd ended up on Quartz street. 

“You should have stayed in the Shire with him.” Nori said, “You shouldn't have come here.” there was something sad in his expression for a moment, “...none of us should have.” 

The thief shook it off quickly, “And keep a better eye on him – I won't _always_ be around to save him.” he said sharply, and then Nori had dodged away and was gone. 

and it was time for Bofur to _try_ to earn back Bilbo's trust. 

 

Mirra had been waiting for him at the base of the stairs when he got home, so he could not go up to his room. She had one of her heavy hammers in her hand as though she'd been going to go to the forge for the evening – but she hadn't been holding the hammer _casually_ anymore. 

He had to convince her that he hadn't hurt Bilbo in some way before she'd let him up to his room to try and talk to him – and she had _still_ settled herself on the steps to listen and be sure. 

“Bilbo...” Bofur called softly from the door, “Bilbo, I'm sorry... can I come in?” 

There was no answer. 

“Bilbo?” he called again, and still there was no answer. 

Bofur rubbed at his face, tugging at his mustache in frustration. _Forges_ he didn't _know_ what the right thing to do would be. Maybe he should wait and let Bilbo calm down on his own, but Bilbo was scared and he _needed_ to know that Bofur didn't think of him that way. 

He _loved_ him – Bilbo didn't _belong_ to him, just as he didn't belong to Bilbo. “Mine” was not an endearment they would ever be able to use, because it meant something _very_ different to Bilbo. 

“Bilbo...” He tried again, “I'm going to come in. I'll leave if you ask me to, but I'd like to talk...” 

Bilbo was sitting on his bed, in the corner furthest from the door, and Bofur had _never_ wanted to see fear like that on his face again. 

Especially not Bilbo being afraid of _him_. He left the door half-open, so it wasn't like he was locking Bilbo in with him, and kept his hands open and visible at his sides, unarmed, his motions slow as he approached. 

He stopped when he saw Bilbo's fingers begin to inch toward Sting, his heart aching. 

...for Bilbo to be _that_ scared of him... 

Bofur sat down on the stone floor, leaning against the edge of Bilbo's bed, facing away from the Hobbit – giving his back to him, completely vulnerable. 

“You don't belong to anyone.” Bofur said softly. “I don't belong to you, and you'll never belong to me, or anyone. Nori was _wrong_ to say it, and I was wrong not to notice it faster.” 

What else could he say? 'I love you' might be too claiming for him, right now. 

“All I want is whatever you need to be happy.” he said quietly toward his knees... even if that was to leave Bofur, to return home to Bag End. 

He let them fall into silence – he didn't know what else he _could_ say. 

Bilbo took several deep, steadying breaths behind him, and then was silent again himself for long enough for Bofur to start to feel uncomfortable on the coldness of the stone floor, but he didn't quite dare move to reposition himself. 

Bilbo was so quiet Bofur flinched in surprise at the touch of a small hand on his shoulder. 

“Look at me.” Bilbo asked, and Bofur shifted around to look up at him. Bilbo's jaw was clenched, determination stronger than fear in his perfect smoke sapphire eyes as he seemed to search for something in Bofur's. 

“Say it again?” he asked. 

“You'll _never_ belong to anyone.” Bofur repeated, “I want you to be happy, even if that means never seeing you again.” 

Bilbo nodded slightly, his caress on Bofur's cheek seeming to push his face away, and he allowed it, looking away again.

Sometimes it was easier to talk without being _watched_. 

He took the opportunity to resettle himself more comfortably, and waited. 

“I'm lost.” Bilbo said, his voice small, “I don't know if I could find my way out of Nurgathol if I _tried_ , I'm....” 

Trapped. He couldn't feel the paths in the stone and he felt trapped here with Bofur, that _couldn't_ help. 

“Bombur or Mirra would gladly show you the way out, if you didn't trust me to.” He said... they would probably be relieved to be rid of the complication Bofur and Bilbo together represented. “You could get to Marigold, there are plenty of groups going to Southhaven to join – find a caravan to Bree from there, and you know the way home from Bree.” 

Bilbo could leave, and Bofur would have to survive on nothing but the memory of his soft kisses. He caught himself curling in toward his knees and made himself sit up again. He would do it and he would do it with a _smile_ , if that's what Bilbo needed.

Bilbo took another several deep breaths behind him. 

“I keep telling myself that you've never hurt me.” he said, an unspoken _but_ attached to the sentence. He told himself, but he didn't quite believe it. 

“I understand.” Bofur assured him softly, “It's not that easy.” 

Bilbo's hand was back on his shoulder, gently petting his braids. His hat was nudged a time or two, and he took it off so Bilbo could reach more of his hair. He loved how Bilbo enjoyed playing with his braids. If Bilbo were feeling safe enough to touch him, that was good. That was progress. 

“You _thanked_ Nori.” Bilbo said, “He said I was _yours_ and you _thanked_ him.” 

“He saved your life.” Bofur answered. There was no other way to put it. Bilbo's confusion was evident in his hand pausing on Bofur's hair. 

“You wandered onto Quartz street. Even _Dwalin_ wouldn't survive walking down Quartz street. Nori got you out.” Thank whatever thief-gods guided Nori's steps for that, “I was so glad you were safe I didn't even _hear_ the rest of what he'd said.” 

“He _shouldn't_ have done it... I told him not to do it again.” he finished. 

Bilbo's hand left his braids entirely, and he took one of those steadying breaths again. 

“He said I belonged to _him,_ too.” Bilbo said, “He took me into a tavern, and he said I was _his_ when someone tried to sit by me, and he said I couldn't _talk_ in there if I wanted to live...” Bilbo's voice went high and nervous on the end before he broke off. 

“That was wrong of him.” Bofur said, his stomach clenching at the thought of _Bilbo_ in the awful places Nori would go. “He's said the same of me, when I've gone with him – he just means you're under his protection, but he _shouldn't_ have. He shouldn't have taken you there, and he should have said it differently.” 

Bilbo petted Bofur's hair briefly again, his touch light and nervous, “It was dark and crowded and I couldn't _understand_ what anyone was talking about – he kept talking about 'blue-eyed granite' and...” 

“No.” Bofur broke him off quickly, and Bilbo's quick intake of breath told him he'd been too sharp. 

“It's best not to repeat thieves cant.” He explained gently. 

Bilbo was quiet behind him for a long time again, but his hand was still playing with Bofur's hair. 

“I don't think I _like_ Nurgathol.” he said eventually. Bofur could not fault him, the city had not shown him a pretty face today. 

“I'm so sorry, Bilbo.” Bofur had been so _greedy_ and thoughtless, bringing him into all of this. He'd just wanted _Bilbo_ any way he could have him, and he'd made such a mess of it all. 

Bilbo's hand on his chin urged him to look back at the Hobbit, and he shifted himself to be able to. Bilbo looked much less afraid now. He ran his fingers softly through the messy hairs that always framed Bofur's face, determination in his eyes. 

Oh, Bofur had been there – trying to force yourself to understand that _this person is safe, this person will not hurt me_. 

“Can I?” he asked, reaching a hand halfway up to Bilbo's face. He only hesitated for a moment before nodding. 

Bilbo's beautiful curls were silky under his fingertips, and he seemed to relax slightly as Bofur continued touching him _so_ gently. 

Bilbo, so brave to trust him when it was so difficult for him. 

“Nori said you're not telling me something. That he's on _my_ side?” Bilbo said, and Bofur rubbed his thumb across Bilbo's cheek before he dropped his hand back to his own lap. Best not to be touching him for this, in case it became _too much_. 

“You won't like it.” he warned. 

Bilbo dropped his own hand, sitting cross-legged on the bed above him, made a 'go on' gesture. 

“You'll feel like someone's trying to own you.” Bofur warned. Bilbo tensed at that, but squared his jaw and nodded. 

So strong, Bilbo... this would be hard on him, but Nori was right. He _did_ need to know where things stood. 

“I love you, and you'll never belong to anyone.” Bofur reminded, reaching over to squeeze Bilbo's ankle affectionately as he looked up into those brave dark blue eyes. 

It had to be done. 

Bofur took a deep breath, and explained about Dwarves and Ones – the parts he hadn't explained before because Bilbo got upset when he skirted too close to them. 

How Dwarves are expected to remain faithful to their One forever. 

That no _decent_ Dwarf would ever court someone who had already chosen. 

That what Bofur had done would be considered just as wrong as adultery – because Bilbo had chosen Thorin – worse, maybe, because Thorin was no longer there to protect his One. 

Bilbo protested that he hadn't _married_ Thorin, and Bofur explained that the wedding was secondary to the _choice_ , among Dwarves.

He answered Bilbo's protest that Thorin was _dead_ – that didn't matter. A Dwarf who's One died was expected to remain faithful, to wait to meet again in the halls of Mandos where they would work side by side once again. 

Bilbo protested that _he was not_ a Dwarf, and Bofur answered that he _knew_ , but Thorin had been one, and a beloved King at that. Bilbo was Thorin's One, and Bofur had no right to steal away what would be seen as rightfully _his_. 

“Nori _said_ it was an ugly story...” Bilbo had crawled back and back across the bed as Bofur explained until he was pressed into the corner, the blankets up around him. His eyes were brimming and his lips trembling, but nothing fell. 

“I'm sorry.” Bofur said, because it was _his_ fault Bilbo had to deal with _any_ of this. Bilbo's fingers were clenched tight in the blankets, and there was a flash of anger in his eyes, 

“I didn't _belong_ to him when he was alive, and I _won't_ let anyone claim I'm his now that he's dead!” Bilbo snarled, and that was _good_ , anger was better than despair... but it did not last long. His eyes closed, bright tears standing on his lashes as he dropped his head to his blanket-covered knees. 

“...go. Please go.” Bilbo choked out, his shoulders shaking. 

Bofur did not have to be asked twice. 

He closed the door behind himself, to block the sound of quiet heartbroken sobs. 


	18. summoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a good thing they got that talk out of the way, because things are happening now.

Bilbo was sitting in Bofur's lap when Dwalin came for him. 

He'd had a bad evening, the day before. He'd been so _drained_ after Bofur explained to him the rest of the story about Dwarves and Ones, he hadn't had the energy to do anything but lay in his bed. 

Like Nori had said, it was an _ugly_ story, and he couldn't see how it would do anything but hurt people. 

Bilbo might _still_ love Thorin, but meeting him again was not something he wanted to do – especially not if he had to spend the rest of his life alone first. Not when he could instead be with sweet Bofur who was so good to him, and _so_ careful with him. 

Bilbo had asked him to leave, and Bofur left. He'd had a cry that he couldn't even call 'good' because it left him feeling fuzzy-headed and exhausted, and then he hadn't had the energy to do anything but lay in his bed.

Eventually Mirra came up to ask if he would be joining them for dinner. 

He'd told her no, and she left again. He couldn't... he just couldn't. He didn't have the energy. 

Mirra came back again later to ask if Bofur should sleep somewhere else, and _that_ had roused Bilbo a little. He _didn't_ want to evict Bofur from his own room, and of course having been sent away Bofur wouldn't come back until Bilbo invited him. 

He was _so_ good. 

Bilbo had dragged himself upright in the bed, rubbing his face to try and feel a little less like something that had been trampled by a herd of cattle – not entirely successful. He'd seen Mirra in the doorway, watching him with a little line of concern between her brows... and the little things she'd said and done added up all at once. 

“Do you _really_ think I should be spending the rest of my life waiting to die and join a Dwarf who tried to kill me?” it came out far closer to a sob than he'd wanted it to... if even Bombur and Mirra thought he should want to be Thorin's One...

Her eyebrows rose and her mouth fell open slightly, a small o of surprise, and Bilbo wished he hadn't asked. He didn't _really_ want to know the answer. 

“He tried to _kill_ you?” her tone was soft and surprised. She'd come into the room, leaning on the footboard as she watched him. 

“He held me over a cliff by my _throat_ and threatened to throw me down – _yes_ he tried to kill me.” Bilbo knew his tone was defensive, but that was better than letting himself get swamped in the _fear_ of it. He'd faced trolls and orcs and wargs and spiders and a Dragon, and the most _afraid_ Bilbo had ever been he was looking into the cold blue eyes of the Dwarf he loved as he choked and his feet dangled out over empty air. 

He'd just tried to keep him _alive_ , and it hadn't been _enough_. 

“No.” She said quietly but firmly, “I do _not_... the storytellers leave that part out when they tell the tales of Thorin and Erebor.” 

“So do I.” Bilbo confessed, “I'd rather think of what _few_ good times we had...” 

She smiled gently at him, “What should I tell Bofur?” she prompted, and Bilbo nodded and told her to send him up. 

Bofur had been hesitant when he came in, watching Bilbo with sad eyes like that loyal old hound expecting to be kicked. Bilbo reached for him, and he came to the bed. Bofur just held him and told him he loved him, and Bilbo curled up against his chest and was _not_ empty and drained and hopeless. He had _Bofur_ , and Bofur was worth trying for _even if_ it was going to be harder than he'd realized. 

They'd cuddled warm and close in Bilbo's little bed for a long time, and then made a late-night kitchen raid because Bilbo was hungry, and then cuddled some more before Bofur went to his own bed for the night. 

It was after breakfast the next day, and Bilbo was sitting in Bofur's lap because he was still feeling a little raw from the day before and wanted comfort. They'd been about to go for a morning smoke up on the sunny little balcony, but gotten side tracked. Bilbo snuggled warm and comfortable in Bofur's arms, the Dwarf murmuring his love as he rubbed Bilbo's back. 

The door was open, and they both looked up when there was suddenly a shadow in it. Bofur's arms wrapped protectively tight around Bilbo as Dwalin glared at them in the doorway. Bilbo had forgotten how intimidating Dwalin's scowl could be, or maybe Dwalin had never scowled at him quite that hard before. 

Bilbo had never known that a single huff could hold as much disapproval as Dwalin's did as he crossed his arms and looked away from them. 

“Lady Dis requests the presence of Bilbo Baggins.” He growled. 

“Right!” Bofur said, his cheerful tone at odds with the way his heart was pounding against Bilbo, “We'll just...”

“ _Only_ Bilbo Baggins.” Dwalin interrupted, with a disgusted glare at Bofur. 

“No.” Bofur protested, his grip tightening on Bilbo. 

“I will take him to her by force if must.” Dwalin growled back. 

“He's _not_ a Dwarf.” Bofur's fear was starting to show through in his voice, “You can't treat him like he is! _I'm_ the one who...” 

“Nurgathol is the Lady's domain, do not _tell_ her what she cannot...” 

“ _Stop_.” Bilbo's voice cut through and silenced both Dwarves. He took a deep breath as he stood, straightening his waistcoat and reaching for Sting. 

“I'll go.” He said, “No need to _drag_ me there.” Dwalin was impervious to his glare, “Best just get it over with.” He told Bofur – the Dwarf's warm brown eyes were so worried looking up at Bilbo he couldn't resist leaning down to gently kiss him, feeling the tickle of his mustache on his chin. 

...maybe not the _smartest_ thing to do in front of Dwalin, but Bilbo was determined to _fight_ for his right to be with Bofur. He would not try to hide what they were. 

He'd had _quite_ enough of hiding. 

Bofur touched his shoulder, his chin, as though he wanted to catch Bilbo and keep him here, but Bilbo _would_ have to face Lady Dis sooner or later even if he somehow managed not to today. 

“I love you.” he whispered and stepped back, patting his pockets to be sure he had all his things, settled Sting in his belt one last time, and nodded to Dwalin. 

“Lead the way.” He requested. 

The big warrior turned and strode away without a second look, leaving Bilbo to catch up on his own as they went down the steps and onto the street. 

Bilbo tried to keep track of the streets as they went, though he was sure it was hopeless. 

Dwalin did not say a single word as Bilbo trotted along beside him, his disdain cold between them. 

The palace was solid and beautiful – built of pale stone and well lit with skylights, but Bilbo didn't have long to look at it before they marched through the doors and into the throne room. 

There were other Dwarves around the edges of the room, but his eyes were drawn immediately to the one who stood in the center. 

_that's impossible! he's dead!_

Long dark hair turning silver at the temples, a few braids and touch of silver jewelry, a blue fur-trimmed cloak – turning with that unmistakeable nose caught in profile for just a moment, dark beard trimmed short in mourning, and finally cold ice-blue eyes falling on him. 

He stumbled backward two steps, might have run on pure instinct if Dwalin's huge hand hadn't closed on his bicep to hold him. He could feel a scream bubbling up somewhere in the back of his throat. 

_he's dead he's dead he's dead he's dead!_

“So... this is the halfling.” 


	19. tell me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting

“So... this is the halfling.”

The voice was wrong, that was the first thing that broke through Bilbo's growing panic – a mellow tenor rather than Thorin's deep bass. Other things broke through quickly one after another, the decorative silver jewelry was attached to a delicate chain circlet, not to her dark braids – a roundness to her face – what he'd assumed was a cloak revealed to be a dress with the slight rounding of a bosom to her chest, a softness to her stomach. On one shoulder she wore what might have been decorative chain-mail armor, with thin chains of silver hanging from it that shimmered as she moved.

 _Not_ Thorin, though she was as like him as a twin. The scream that had been growing in Bilbo's throat was swallowed down to a tiny whimper that he doubted anyone but Dwalin had heard as he forced himself to focus on the _differences_.

She was not _him_ , and he could not allow himself to _run_.

Bilbo took a deep breath and tugged his arm away from Dwalin. He _would_ face this head-on. The big warrior held onto his arm for a second longer than necessary before letting him go, as though he needed to _prove_ that he was bigger and stronger than Bilbo.

“Lady Dis, I presume?” He asked, proud of how steady his voice was. He was _Bilbo Baggins_ who had bluffed trolls and faced orcs and spoken to a Dragon, and he could face her _even if_ she wore Thorin like an echo and he suddenly found that he was not so tired of hiding as he'd thought.

She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment.

“Forgive me.” He said, apologizing for his initial reaction as he straightened his sleeve where Dwalin had rumpled it, using the excuse to break contact with those freezing blue eyes, “The family resemblance is... striking.”

“So I have been told...” she said, “Tell me about my brother.” an order, not a suggestion. Hadn't they said that she refused to speak to anyone about Thorin or the quest?

Bilbo clasped his hands behind his back so they could not give him away by trembling as he again met those horribly familiar hard eyes, “He would not have known diplomacy if it hit him over the head with a hammer. He was far too proud for his own good. His words were crueler than knives when he was angry or frightened.”

There was utter silence in the throne room, as though all the Dwarves who'd been working on the edges were not even breathing anymore.

“He was driven to claim what he saw as his, he was fierce and brave _far_ beyond the point of stupidity, he was beautiful and bad tempered, and I _loved_ him.”

There was only Dwalin's warning growl growing beside him in the silence until Dis laughed, a short mirthless bark.

“ _That_ is the brother I remember, not the faultless hero they sing of.” she said.

Her cold eyes snapped to Dwalin, who was still growling, “You will be _silent_ or you will leave, son of Fundin.” she ordered with a dismissive wave of her ring-decked hand. Her mannerisms were different, that helped too, along with her voice. Bilbo forced himself to breathe calmly and deeply, to focus on the _differences_ and not how much every instinct was telling him to run and hide.

The big warrior bowed to Dis and backed away, falling silent immediately, as she walked up to Bilbo. He held himself still as she circled him, looking him over, far too similar in memory to the way Thorin had at their first meeting. She was nearly as tall and broad as Thorin, and like when Thorin had done it Bilbo did not let himself be intimidated. He met her hard blue eyes firmly when she circled back around to in front of him, wondering if it was a tactic they taught Dwarven royalty or just a family quirk.

“I will speak to _you_.” Lady Dis decided, sweeping away to sit on a benchlike throne, the delicate silver chains of her jewelry chiming like soft bells at the motion. She gestured him forward and then to stop, so he stood near looking up at her where she sat stiffly on the throne.

“Tell me of my brother's quest.” She ordered. Bilbo glanced toward the Dwarves on the sidelines of the hall, not sure if they should hear...

“Ignore them...” there was a hint of a warning in her tone, and he looked back up at her eyes as cold as the ones that haunted his deepest fears.

She was not him, she _was not him_.

He was Bilbo Baggins, and he would _make himself_ be strong enough for this.

He told her, good and bad. The times when Thorin's pride was a problem, and when his bravery saved them. The times when Kili's thoughtlessness saw them in trouble, and when his reckless intuition got them out of it. Fili so ferocious in battle, so loyal, and always trying so hard to make Thorin proud and do what he saw as right.

He told her of laughing boys juggling his dishes, of mocking words disparaging him, of stone giants and hard words telling him he would never belong, and throwing himself between Azog and Thorin with a sword he didn't even know how to use when it seemed certain they would all die.

He told her of companionship, of spiders and confusion in Mirkwood, of Thorin's pride and anger in Thranduil's dungeons.

He told her of Elves and orcs and barrels.

He told her of Laketown, of Kili's injury and Fili's loyalty, and the strength of all the Company.

He told her of the horror of waking from a blow to the head on a field of corpses as far as he could see, his tired throat closing on him as he tried to continue.

“Enough.” She said, her voice rough and her face turned from him. “Leave... leave _all_ of you!” with a wave of her hand she dismissed the entire room, Dwarves grabbing their things and heading for the nearest door.

“Ah... Lady Dis...” Bilbo raised a finger nervously, “If I could request a guide? I am _lost_ in Nurgathol...” He would rather not end up on Quartz street again.

“Take him, Dwalin.” She ordered, and Dwalin completely unnecessarily grabbed his arm to pull him out the door.

Glancing back, he thought he could see tears on the lady's cheeks as she covered her face with her hands.

 

Bilbo ached.

His feet hurt from standing on the cold stone so long, and his throat was parched from talking so long with nothing to eat or drink and no breaks, and he was cracked clean through from the memories he'd revisited, like a hole in his chest, sour bile in his stomach from keeping the panic down for so very long. He felt like the very _fabric_ of him was crumpled, a raw ache clear through him.

He followed Dwalin's too-quick pace... and just held himself together.

He carried on. He would carry on because that was what he _did_ , but he wanted to _rest_ and _let go_ and not have to face it any more.

He did not pay attention to where they went, just followed Dwalin. He did not have the energy for anything else.

It was a surprise to him when the big warrior spoke, a growl in his quiet voice, “I _pity_ Bofur,” he said, his tone acid as his lips twisted on it, “loving someone as faithless as you... say you love him when it suits you, say you love Thorin when that suits.” his disgust was obvious.

On the quest, Dwalin had always tried to protect him, even before he _liked_ him. After the Dwarves of the Company felt Bilbo had proved himself, after Bilbo was with Thorin, he'd been even more protective, casually friendly sometimes. Dwalin had once made him feel safe.

It hurt to know that that 'friendship' was not true, was based only on his _belonging_ to Thorin. Dwalin was huge, and well-armed, and clearly disgusted and angry with him – but Bilbo had been standing firm far too long today to be cowed now. After holding himself together in the face of Dis, after staring down Thorin's echo, he was too tired to even be afraid. They wanted to say that he belonged to Thorin? Then by what _right_ was he treated as anything but the King's Consort Thorin had wanted to make of him?

“I pity Nori.” he answered evenly, and took a small cruel pleasure in seeing how Dwalin's step faltered.

Bilbo recognized this street, knew where he was. He could find his way back to Mirra and Bombur's house from here.

“I can find my way from here. Good day.” He dismissed, and he did not look back on the warrior as he left his side.

He held himself together by sheer willpower until he was safe at home in Bofur's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with art by the lovely Sparkle!  
> http://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/post/71130829967/so-this-is-the-halfling-bilbo-meets-the-lady
> 
>  
> 
> Lady Dis' jewelry, for those interested, was inspired by this
> 
> http://www.etsy.com/listing/110602454/elegant-handmade-silver-mucha-style  
> (but with fewer gems)
> 
> http://cdn2.bigcommerce.com/server5400/ehpa0/products/52/images/174/AIIA99474GDGOD__60679.1349248253.1280.1280.JPG  
> (but in silver)


	20. not today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darrowdams kick ass. This is just a fact of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There should be a mouseover translation of the khuzdul, if I did it right.

Bilbo had crumbled when he came home. First he'd stumbled into Bofur and held onto him so tight he was afraid he'd hurt himself while he screamed with his mouth shut, just one long muffled scream. Then all Bofur could do was hold him as he shook like he would come apart. They ended up on the floor, right there in the kitchen, while Bilbo let go of all the panic he must have been holding the entire time he was gone. 

He was so strong... so strong, doing what had to be done and only letting go when he was safe. 

And if Bofur's arms were _safe_ to him... 

The Hobbit had curled into Bofur's lap and babbled 'she isn't him' and 'he's dead, they died, they all died' while he shook, and Bofur cursed himself for not at least _warning_ him that Lady Dis looked so much like Thorin. 

He'd thought they would have more _time_ before he had to face her, or that he wouldn't have to at all because he _wasn't_ a Dwarf and shouldn't have to answer as if he were. 

And after the day before being so hard on him, too.

It hadn't taken long for Bilbo's panic to exhaust itself, and he just nuzzled against Bofur to be held. He didn't even seem to have the energy to be embarrassed for having broken down in front of Bombur and Mirra and the little ones. 

When he seemed better and was just resting on Bofur, sweet little pudgy-blond Borra had petted Bilbo's curls beside Bofur's hand and offered him a half-chewed biscuit. 

He'd laughed a little weakly and asked if he could have something to drink instead. 

The whole family had gathered around him, Mirra had told the little ones only that Bilbo had been hurt and he was healing – and that Bofur was helping. Bofur didn't know what Bilbo had told her to change her opinion of their relationship, but she seemed to have brought Bombur along with her. They fed Bilbo and got him to talk about the Shire and cossetted him until he told them he was _not_ a child or an invalid, thank you _very_ much – and they knew he was alright.

It wasn't much, just the support of five other Dwarves, three of them children – but it was _so much_. With his family on his side, Bofur felt like there was nothing he couldn't face. 

…but it was all well and good for _him_ to feel brave, when it was Bilbo who'd be the one facing Lady Dis even though that wasn't _right_. He was a _Hobbit_ , not a Dwarf. If _anyone_ had done wrong it was Bofur, and he'd done it with his eyes open. 

It wasn't right, but there wasn't anything Bofur could do about it. Not against Royalty.

Bilbo stuck close to him all evening, though he did leave his side for a little to help Bombur make a big batch of sweet dough for breakfast the next morning. 

In the evening they'd sung with Bombur and Mirra, Mirra leaning against Bombur with Borra in her lap, Bilbo curled up against Bofur, Forra and Sorra collapsed in a pile where they'd gotten tired from wrestling. It was warm and comfortable and _family_... and the only way it could have been better was if Bofur could have protected Bilbo, but he never _had_ been able to do that. 

No matter how hard he tried. 

It was fully dark out by the time they went out to go up to their room, so it wasn't until the next morning that Bofur showed Bilbo his plan. 

 

It was just a tub, an old tub he'd hauled up to his little smoking balcony. Bilbo looked at it uncertainly when Bofur brought him up to see it, and Bofur had a moment of doubt. It had _seemed_ like such a good idea when he had it, but even after spending months among Hobbits he would be the first to admit he didn't know a thing about growing plants. 

“I thought we could bring dirt in... you could grow your tomatoes?” Bofur suggested. He knew the tomatoes Bilbo grew were something like famous in the Shire. He'd gathered that much, in his stay, though he wasn't exactly sure what made them so much better than other tomatoes. 

Bilbo threw himself into Bofur's arms, pulling his face down to plant little nibbling kisses on his lips while he laughed. When he drew back for air his smoke sapphire eyes were shining, and there was a true smile on his face for the first time in days. His big wild curls shone gold in the early morning sunlight, and Bofur _had_ to kiss him again, nice and slow and deep until they were both a little breathless. 

“No.” Bilbo said, drawing away and grinning at the tub, “There isn't _nearly_ enough light or heat for tomatoes. We could grow some herbs, some spinach do you think? ...radishes?” he hunkered down beside the tub and eyed the angle of the sun and the great cavern roof the way a miner might look at a new vein, the way a smith might look at a piece of metal, mentally preparing before the assault. 

“Peas...” He breathed, jumping up and grabbing Bofur's arm with a laugh, “Bofur, we could grow fresh peas _all through summer_!” he darted around Bofur, bouncing down the stairs with a laugh, “We'll have to limewash the walls to reflect more light...” 

Bofur couldn't help but laugh. Hobbits... all it took was the chance to grow things and Bilbo was completely happy. 

 

Bilbo's enthusiasm was contagious, the entire family was out on the steps up the front of the house. Bombur had brought the sweet breads outside for breakfast and Bilbo had eaten one while gesturing wildly and explaining something about the sweetness of soil? 

He was behaving very much like a Dwarf who was caught up in their craft, the way Mirra sometimes would when she had a project she _had_ to make. They tried to keep up with what he was saying, translating his excited gestures and rambling into lists of supplies they needed, into concrete tasks they could perform. 

Somehow the project had become much bigger than just some tomatoes in a tub, there were going to be hanging baskets down the front of the house and a series of pots along the back wall of the roof growing peas. They needed to get crushed rock for the bottoms of the pots, and soil, and Bilbo informed them that they needed compost – which they were probably going to have to go to the parts of Nurgathol outside the Cavern to get ahold of – from the hostlers on the edges of the city, no doubt. 

They were also making lists of seeds, some of them they would probably be able to get from the Men who lived on the outside of Nurgathol, but some they would have to send to Southhaven for.

Some of the neighbors were even joining in, bringing chipped or cracked pots to have things planted in them, or just hanging around watching the Hobbit. There were whispers, of course, because _everyone_ knew who Bilbo Baggins was, and who he'd been with, and he kept grabbing Bofur and kissing him whenever he had another idea and Bofur was nearby. 

Mirra put an end to most of those, though. Bofur didn't know what she said, but she passed a murmur here and there, a quietly signed conversation or two, and the vast majority of the hostility faded away. 

Forra was helping Bombur drill drainage holes in pots while Sorra was helping Borra mix up the limewash Bilbo had requested – apparently the house was going to be very white now – when Dwalin showed back up. 

Bilbo saw him first, his cheerful face falling into serious lines as he fell still and silent, watching the warrior approach, drawing himself to his full short height with his beautiful dark blue eyes haunted. 

Mirra met Dwalin at the base of the stairs, casually swinging her biggest sledgehammer up into a two-handed grip – when had she gotten that out?

“Not today, Dwalin.” She said firmly, squaring herself as she stared the huge warrior down. 

“Lady Dis requests the presence of Bilbo Baggins.” He answered, as Bombur sent the little ones inside and came to stand behind her in support. 

“I invoke the right of _khidazhâl_.” She said, lifting her chin proudly, and Bofur's stomach clenched in worry. That was risky, _horribly_ risky, she shouldn't have...

“If you think I won't fight Bombur...” Dwalin started in a rough growl. 

“This is not _Bombur's_ home!” she cut him off, taking a step forward and switching into khuzdul. _“Stone halls carved of my mother's hand, place of my birth, and birthplace of my children. I claim these halls and those who stand therein. No harm touch them while I stand.”_

She took another step forward with an aggressive swing of her sledgehammer that had Dwalin taking a surprised step back. 

“I'll...” Bilbo started nervously, stepping forward as if he would go... and of _course_ he would. He didn't want to see anyone fight. Bofur pulled him back, shushing him gently. If this _worked_...

“Lady Dis...” Dwalin started. 

“If she would ask you to fight a Dwarf who is bearing, then she is not the Lady who has _always_ held my loyalty.” She said, “Bilbo does not leave his house _today_ , Dwalin.” 

Dwalin looked at her for a long moment before his eyes climbed the stairs to see where Bofur was holding Bilbo. He sneered at that, but backed up the requisite steps and bowed to grant Mirra the right she'd claimed, a relieved sigh escaping the neighbors who'd gathered around in tense silence.

“Then tomorrow.” He said, and turned to stomp away without a second look. 

“...what just happened?” Bilbo asked quietly. 

“You're under Mirra's protection.” Bofur answered. 

Mirra turned, dropping her sledgehammer with a sigh and leaning heavily on it. She smiled up at Bilbo, “It's an old law. As long as neither one of us leaves the house today, no one can take you from it.” 

“I would have gone, you didn't have to...” Bilbo started, but the nervous tension had left him. 

“He's too honorable to ever fight me.” Mirra said, waving it off, “I've bought you a day. Enjoy it.” 

“You were saying something about moss?” Bofur reminded, and Bilbo smiled again, that happy light sparking in his eyes. 

“Moss for the shadiest bits.” He purred as though it was the most seductive thing in the world, tangling his fingers in Bofur's braids and drawing his face down for a soft kiss before he was off again describing what he would need. 

 

Without Mirra or Bilbo being able to leave the house – and they decided Bofur too just in case Lady Dis decided if she could not speak to one she would speak to the other – they had to rely on Bombur and friends and neighbors to do most of the running around for them. Still, there was a lot of running up and down the stairs carrying stuff, and a lot of painting to get the limewash up to reflect the light, which Bilbo told them was very important, and at the end of the day they were all exhausted. 

The house looked very different now, but Bilbo had been smiling all day and he seemed certain that the seeds they'd gotten so far would grow and thrive. 

It would be quite the thing to see if they did, a house blooming with plants deep in a Dwarven city. 

A happy Bilbo was an _affectionate_ Bilbo. Bofur wasn't sure he'd ever been hugged and kissed so much in his life, and he did not mind it even a little. 

When all the work was done and everyone was having their turn in the baths, he'd almost thought Bilbo was going to invite him to join him – but instead the Hobbit had turned red around the ears and hurried away into the baths alone. 

Bilbo had gone to his own bed and was writing something by the light of the little lamp by the time Bofur was done with his. He hadn't invited Bofur over, so he'd gone to his own bed. 

It was after he'd blown the lamp out and Bofur was falling into comfortably tired sleep that a small body slipped into the bed behind his, spooning behind him. 

Bofur smiled to himself as Bilbo wiggled around to make himself comfortable, petting Bofur's braids out of the way to press a soft kiss to the shell of his ear. 

“I think Lady Dis will see reason.” Bilbo breathed quietly, as though he were afraid someone was going to eavesdrop on them, “The more I think of it, the more I think she won't try to hold me to him.” 

“Hmm?' Bofur said. He wasn't so sure of that. To take someone's One was no small matter. 

“But if she doesn't... do you have some way to contact Nori? We might need him if we have to sneak out of Nurgathol... or if _I_ have to.” He petted Bofurs braids, the side of his face, his shoulder, his side, then just wrapped his arm around Bofur's chest to hold him tight as he snuggled into his back.

“I would keep you in the Shire with me, if we can't live with Dwarves.” Bilbo whispered. 

Bofur put his hand over Bilbo's on his chest, pressing it in close to his heart. 

“I'd like that.” he whispered back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo needed to have a good day.


	21. answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very important conversation is had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!WARNING!!!  
>  I am not joking around with the 'past abusive relationship' tag. It is there for a reason.

It was easier to face Lady Dis knowing what to expect, or maybe it was easier because she did not look so much like Thorin today – or maybe he'd had time to get used to how much like him she looked.

Her eyes were still terrifyingly familiar, but her dark hair was pinned up in a silver mesh net with tiny pale pink beads to match those that speckled her cream and deep dust rose dress that only had just a few accents of the blue Thorin had favored.

She looked warmer and softer, sitting on the wide throne, but her eyes were no less cold as she looked up from some papers as Dwalin led him in. Bilbo still wasn't clear on the particulars of what Mirra had done, but the conversation she'd had with Dwalin this morning before Bilbo left with him sounded like ritual, even if Bilbo couldn't understand the language.

He didn't know what she'd done, but he was glad she had. It had given him time to _think_ , to prepare himself.

“Bilbo Baggins.” Lady Dis greeted coolly, gesturing him forward.

“Lady Dis.” He answered.

She handed her papers off to a Dwarf who was standing at her side, “Today we will speak of your increasingly blatant infidelity to my brother.” She said, and Bilbo did not break eye contact, faced those freezing eyes down. He didn't even have to clasp his hands behind his back to keep them from trembling.

This was so horribly important, and he _could_ do it.

“I'm afraid we're going to disagree.” He said calmly, “According to the customs of _my_ people, we were never anything but casual lovers... and unless I am _terribly_ mistaken, I'm not the first he ever had. Are his _other_ lovers also forbidden from ever being touched again?”

There were soft murmurs and quiet chuckles in the throne room, cut only by an low growl behind him from Dwalin, but the warrior stopped himself before Lady Dis' eyes so much as flicked toward him.

He almost thought he saw the Lady's lips twitch toward a smile, “That may be.” She said, “But according to the customs of _mine_ you were something much more to him. You were his One – you his choice, and he the one of your choosing. Did you not say you loved him?”

“I did love him.” Bilbo answered, he _had_ loved that fierce beautiful King, more than breathing, sometimes, “I _do_ love him, maybe I always will.” loved him like a crack through his chest no matter how hard that hurt, “But that doesn't change the fact that, by the end, I wouldn't have stayed with him if he _begged_. I would not be with him if he were alive, why should I be held to him when he's dead?”

“ _You lie!_ ” Dwalin snarled behind him, “I was _there_ in the tent with you when you told him...”

“ _Atkât_!” Dis roared, her voice dropping to a lower register as she stood. The same word Thorin would use when the Company was arguing, in the same tone, and Bilbo could not hide his full-body flinch, though he managed not to try to run and hide even though he wanted to more than anything. She didn't seem to have noticed.

She wasn't _him_ , and Bilbo forced himself to breathe and focus on the differences, easier today because there were more of them. She _was not him_.

“When were you given permission to speak?” She demanded, and glancing behind Bilbo saw Dwalin bow and step back toward the wall, his face flushed red with anger.

“What would you have had me say? He was _dying_.” Bilbo answered the accusation... he'd held Thorin's hand while he gasped shallowly for every breath, the scent of blood filling the tent. He'd tried, he'd tried _so hard_ to keep Thorin alive and he hadn't been _enough._ All he could do was try to offer him some comfort at the end...

Lady Dis' hard eyes turned back to Bilbo as she resettled herself on the throne and accepted new papers from a Dwarf who stood beside it, “What could have caused you to reject your One?” she asked.

“Hobbit's don't have Ones.” He said, and his hands _were_ shaking now, he shoved them behind his back, clenching them so tightly together they ached, but his voice was level, “We _do_ value fidelity, but I could not stay with him. I don't know how things are done among Dwarves, but _no Hobbit_ would ask someone to stay with a lover who did violence to them.”

Pale blue eyes so hard and so cold where they should have been been warm and kind, just like the ones he was staring down now, but he _would_ do this. Sweet, kind Bofur was worth this fight.

Lady Dis was the first to look away, handing the papers back and waving away the Dwarf who'd handed them to her. The throne room was so silent the rustling of the fabric was clearly audible as Dis adjusted her skirts, moving to sit to one side of the benchlike pale stone throne while everyone in the room pointedly _did not_ look at either of them.

“Sit with me, Master Baggins.” she said softly, gesturing to the empty side of the throne. Bilbo hesitated, unsure, but an impatiently raised eyebrow had him stepping up the steps and settling on the far edge of the throne. It was more comfortable than it looked, padded with cushions that matched the stone it was carved of. Lady Dis had turned in, toward him, and he matched her so they were half-faced toward one another.

“Tell me of this violence.” She requested.

Bilbo swallowed hard, glancing toward the Dwarves on the periphery of the room.

“Ignore them.” she ordered, “They aren't important. _Tell_ me.”

He met Lady Dis' eyes again. He'd had a _little_ time to prepare for this, but it was harder than he'd expected it to be. He'd never _told_ anyone, and now the words didn't want to leave his throat.

But Bofur... laughing Bofur who'd found a way for him to grow plants in a Dwarven city just because he knew it would make him happy...

For Bofur, he _would_ be strong enough for this.

Bilbo looked down at his knees, where his hands were gripping tight so they wouldn't shake. He'd left out Erebor, _all_ of it, last time he spoke with the Lady.

“It all started to go _wrong_ as soon as we entered the Mountain.” he started, “I was running from Smaug, trying to get to somewhere safe, the _first_ time he threatened me with a sword to my heart...”

The first threat had been brief, interrupted by the Dragon as it was – telling the story of the fight against Smaug made it easier to tell what happened after, in the long days of waiting that followed. He told of Thorin's increasing anger and shortness of temper, his increasing obsession. The first time Thorin lay a hand on him in anger, the first time Thorin struck him, the first time Thorin outright threatened to kill him.

He told of realizing that Thorin never called him by his name anymore, just 'halfling' and 'burglar' and always sneeringly, and always paired with 'you are mine' as though that could somehow justify the violence – as if Bilbo were simply an _object_ that belonged to him, a _thing_ to be used rather than a person.

He told of hiding terrified in the dark, so afraid of being found – of being hit again, or even forced or killed – of being afraid to approach the rest of the Company because why would they side with a Hobbit rather than their King and what if they had gone mad too?

He told of being so scared of what would happen when he was found by Bofur, and how Bofur led Thorin away from him time and again, helped keep him hidden and safe.

He told of the approach of war, and of doing the only thing he could think of to try prevent it, to save the lives of Company and the Dwarf he loved so desperately even though he wished he _didn't_ love him so he could just creep away and go _home_ to nurse his hurts.

He told of being held over a cliff by his throat and seeing nothing but cold madness in the eyes of the Dwarf he loved as he threatened to throw him to the rocks, choking with his feet over empty air and _knowing_ he was going to die – more afraid of Thorin in that moment than he'd _ever_ been of the Dragon.

Bilbo wiped his eyes with his handkerchief, not even _trying_ to hide how badly he was shaking anymore, as he tried to catch his breath back. Across from him Lady Dis sat as though carved of stone if not for the tears falling slowly down into her beard as she watched him, as if she didn't even realize she was crying. He wasn't sure how long she'd been ignoring the Dwarves who were still trying to hand her papers to look at – she'd indulged them at the beginning of his story, but not anymore.

Bilbo took a deep breath, and then another, and told of the horror of waking from a blow to the head in a field of corpses. He found the healers tents, and he held Thorin's hand, and forgave him, and watched him die.

And he _loved_ Thorin, he was cracked clean through with it, and he _never_ wanted to see him again.

Bilbo bit his lips and tried to compose himself, to breathe. He _would_ hold on, hold himself _together_ , until he was home.

“Mulled wine?” Lady Dis' voice was soft, and Bilbo opened his eyes to see her taking a steaming glass mug from a tray that held two.

He accepted the second gratefully, cradling the heat of the heavy mug between his hands – the spiced scent _something else_ to focus on, sipping it a reason not to meet her too-familiar eyes. The sweet spiced wine settled warm in his belly, loosening the ache there just a _little_.

Lady Dis sipped her own, and let him be silent until he wasn't shaking anymore. She looked over papers that various Dwarves brought her, and he was grateful for the time.

“Master Baggins.” she finally said, her voice still gentle as she handed off her nearly empty mug, “Could you answer a few brief questions for me, before we set this matter to rest?”

Bilbo held the half-empty mug against his chest, soaking up the warmth of it, and nodded, meeting her eyes again. The rims were slightly red, but there was no other sign that she had wept.

“Did my brother ever _ask_ you to wed him?”

Bilbo gripped his glass mug tight, glad for the sturdiness of Dwarven craftsmanship that he didn't have to worry about cracking it – his fingers would likely break before it would.

“We... spoke several times of my ruling at his side as Consort...” those few good times before everything went so wrong, back when he'd had _so much_ hope...

“But did he ever say the words to _ask_ you?” she pressed again.

It had been pillow talk, the memory painful now, Thorin telling him how they would live when they had reclaimed Erebor... he could never recall Thorin asking him if he _wanted_ to. It hadn't seemed necessary, with the answer so obvious.

“No.” He answered.

Lady Dis nodded, handing a paper to one of the Dwarves behind her, accepting one from another, and that she was not looking at him made it easier. Bilbo sipped a little more of his mulled wine, at once both grateful and sorry that the mix was not stronger. Being drunk might make the talking easier, but it would not likely help him keep even what small shreds of dignity he had left.

“Did he ever gift you a weapon of his? His axe, his sword... a knife?”

“No.” He'd had Sting, and all of Thorin's weapons were far too heavy for him. It would have been ridiculous and pointless.

“Did he ever braid your hair, or place beads in it?” Lady Dis asked next.

“No.” His hair had not been long enough for it then, though it might be now. He had not cut it in _so_ long.

“Did he give you any tattoos or piercings?”

“No.” Bilbo shuddered slightly at the thought. That was not a Dwarven practice that appealed to him in the slightest.

“Did he give you _any_ jewelry whatsoever?” Lady Dis asked, and she seemed to be looking pleased, almost a small smile on her lips.

“...no.” Bilbo answered. The mithril shirt was nearly pretty enough to be, but it wasn't _jewelry_. It was armor, given to him before things got so bad – before he realized how wrong everything could go. He'd only kept it because Gandalf told him to.

Lady Dis' small smile disappeared, with a quick gesture the Dwarves behind her dispersed as she leaned in close and conspiratorial. Her eyes were too sharp, too cold blue, too familiar, but he did not let himself shrink from them.

“What _did_ he give you?” She asked in a whisper, her body angled to encourage him to turn into the back of the throne, so they were essentially closed off from most of the room.

Without a word he put his mug of wine on his lap, slipped off his neckerchief, and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, opening it slightly so she could see the light mail shirt beneath.

Her eyes widened for a moment before she looked sharply away, gesturing him to put it away.

“Show that to _no one_.” She told him warningly, her eyes looking past him as she seemed to think _hard_.

“Does it bear any crest?” she asked, still in a whisper, looking at him again now that his mithril shirt was hidden.

“The only decoration is where you saw.” He said, shaking his head as he picked his wine back up, for comfort mostly, and wondering why it _mattered_.

Lady Dis nodded once briefly as she sat back, gesturing her Dwarves with the papers back. Bilbo sipped a little more of his wine to settle himself as she talked with them. They seemed to come to some sort of an agreement quickly.

“My brother was a fool... and for your sake I am glad of it.” She said quietly aside to him before she stood, a subtle gesture of her hand letting him know that he need not move.

“It is clear to me – and my finest scholars of law agree” Lady Dis' tone was commanding as her gesture encompassed the Dwarves with the papers “– that there was _never_ a vow between Bilbo Baggins of the Shire and Thorin son of Thrain, known as Oakenshield. The steps of courtship were disregarded, and any vow was unspoken and assumed, and thus holds _no_ weight here.”

Her eyes swept the court, as though looking for dissent. There was none, “That said, not even the _strongest_ of vows could hold Master Baggins after what he endured at the hands...” her voice broke slightly, and was thick as she continued, “at the hands of my brother, succumbed to the weakness of our line. If ever there was a vow broken, if was not Bilbo Baggins who broke it.”

“So let it be known!” she ordered, a gesture scattering Dwarves like leaves out of the room. Bilbo could feel tears starting to prickle his eyes again as she sat.

She'd set him _free_. He'd _hoped_ it would happen, that she would understand if he explained, but he hadn't expected that she would make it it _official_. But she _had_ and now _no one_ would try to hold him to the past...

No one would try to tell him he could not be with Bofur.

Lady Dis made a soft sound, reaching toward him, but Bilbo's bracing himself not to flinch away from her hand must have shown. _She was not him._ She stopped short of touching him, gazing at her hand with too horribly familiar blue eyes for a long moment before dropping it to her lap.

“You are afraid of me.” her voice was sad.

“I _know_ you aren't him.” Bilbo answered, because it was not fair to her. She had never done anything but _talk_ to him, but he could not help himself. He wasn't sure he could easily let _anyone_ touch him right now, with the memories he tried so hard not to think of so close to the surface, and she was _so much_ like him.

“When you first saw me – I expected joy, sorrow, disbelief... guilt perhaps. I thought you merely shocked and surprised, but that was fear, was it not? That was a moment of pure terror.”

“Your eyes...” Bilbo met them, icy blue and something in the back of his mind telling him to _run and hide_ , “I see an echo of him.”

She looked down and to the side before looking back at him from under her brows, the gesture so familiar to how Thorin had when he found himself in need of apologizing.

“And yet you do not hesitate to meet them, to sit beside and speak to me...” There was a tiny amount of wonder in her voice.

“Lady Dis, I spoke with a Dragon once.” He said, holding his near-empty mug of mulled wine tight _“You_ do not breathe fire.” He might be feeling small and horribly cracked and fragile lately, but he had always managed to find the strength to do what needed doing, somehow.

She touched her lips, a tiny smile on them for a moment, “There are those who would disagree with you.” there were soft chuckles through the room at that, a reminder that they might be talking one-on-one, but they were not alone.

“I would have enjoyed working beside you, Master Baggins.” she said gently, her eyes filling with her own sorrow as she looked away, “...if the world were different.”

She had lost _so much_ family that terrible day.

She reached up to her face, touching her lower eyelid and looking in wonder at the tears she found on her fingers, showing them to him with half a little laugh that could have turned to a sob.

She composed herself quickly, dabbing the tears from her eyes.

“I would speak with you again.” she said, a question rather than an order, “I would ask you to call on me... if you can bear it.”

Lady Dis was so horribly _like_ Thorin... but she _was not_ him. They had said she was cold... and she had seemed it at first, but she cried, and she laughed. They'd said she would not hear of Thorin or the quest, but twice now she had spoken with him of it.

It would not be easy, but if he could help her...

He finished the last lukewarm dregs of his mulled wine, and at Lady Dis' gesture a Dwarf stepped up to take the mug from him.

“I think I could.” He said, “Though I would be more comfortable if I could bring Bofur with me?”

“...you _do_ love him...” She mused, looking at him as though she could not quite understand, and Bilbo nodded, glad for the chance to move to more pleasant thoughts. The warmth of the mulled wine was fading already, and he was not feeling his best.

“So very much. As Nori would say, I can believe in love without believing in Ones. I _love_ Bofur.” He breathed deeply, oh sweet Bofur who had always been so good to him.

He would be back with him soon.

“I loved Thorin like... like an inferno, and I held tight until it burned me to the bone. I don't think I _could_ love like that again. I love Bofur like a summer rain when the plants are all dry and thirsty...” oh, that was a Hobbit analogy, a Dwarf wouldn't understand, “Or like coming in from the cold, and wrapping up in a warm blanket beside the fire with something hot to drink...”

Lady Dis nodded thoughtfully, “Thank you, Master Baggins, for your time.” with a small gesture she urged him off the edge of the throne and back down to the floor of the throne room. He felt stiff and tired, but he tried to hold himself with what dignity he could still muster.

“Dwalin, see him back.” She ordered, and Bilbo gave her a small grateful nod before he left with the warrior.

He was _so_ tired, again, but at least it was over, and he should _never_ have to do this again.

Once again he just followed Dwalin, though this time it seemed he wasn't taking such a quick pace. It was much more manageable, which he could tiredly appreciate.

Once again he was surprised when Dwalin spoke.

“I did _not_ know.” Dwalin's voice was even more gruff than usual, “I would never have said...” he broke off, shaking his head.

“It should have been my duty to protect you.” He finally finished... and that was probably as close to an apology as Bilbo would ever hear from him.

“Thank you, Dwalin.” he said, and with a nod the warrior seemed to feel the conversation was over. They walked in silence again, and Bilbo let Dwalin walk him all the way to the door this time.

He left Dwalin with a brief touch to the big warrior's shoulder, and went inside to try and find Bofur.

 _No one_ could tell them they couldn't be together anymore.


	22. recovery

Nurgathol buzzed with it – the story of Bilbo moving Lady Dis' entire court to tears. The official declaration that there had never been a vow between Bilbo and Thorin contradicted the songs and tales that had written them into a tragically beautiful romance, and the story of it contradicted the view of Thorin as a flawless hero.

Bofur just knew that Bilbo came home pale and skittish from his talk with Lady Dis, and that for days afterward he would fall easily into the _sadness_ like he would when Bofur first came to the Shire. All Bofur could do again was just _talk_ to pull him out, because Bilbo flinched sometimes if you reached for him unexpectedly. All Bofur wanted was to hold him, but that wasn't what _Bilbo_ needed.

When he first came home, with his beautiful gray-blue eyes haunted, he hadn't been able to let Bofur touch him at all. Bofur had rarely felt so helpless as when Bilbo was holding onto him for comfort and he couldn't hold him _back_.

Bilbo pressed close to him, nuzzled into his chest with his hands on Bofur's wrists, keeping his arms down.

“I won't move.” he'd promised, and Bilbo had wrapped his arms around him to hold him tight for what felt like forever, and all Bofur could do was murmur reassurance and love to him.

It was an overwhelming relief when Bilbo lifted one of Bofur's hands to his sweet wild curls to let him pet.

It took Bilbo _days_ to get back to normal.

Working on the container garden helped. The little ones, Sorra in particular, were fascinated by what the Hobbit was doing, asking him endless questions which he was more than happy to answer.

Forra and Sorra liked to come with Bilbo and Bofur when they went to gather the supplies Bilbo needed, on trips to the outside edges of Nurgathol. The little ones were happy to play with patient Marigold while Bilbo sat on a barrel and had a smoke while he haggled with the hostler about getting aged manure compost for his garden. Bofur tried to keep up, but he was lost when they started discussing whether or not a certain pile would be too 'hot'. Bofur hadn't known that dirt could be too hot for plants? It just seemed like normal-temperature dirt to him.

Bilbo got seeds from the Men who lived on the edges of Nurgathol, too, and a few cuttings from various plants, which he wrapped in damp cloth and treated as if they were more precious than mithril and more delicate than glass.

Some of the Men questioned whether or not he could actually _get_ anything to grow in the great cavern, but Bilbo just laughed.

“There are a few things you shouldn't argue with a Hobbit about – parties, food, gardens, and pipeweed – you'll never win!”

“I don't know...” Bofur mused later as they walked home, “I argue with you about pipeweed _all_ the time.”

Bilbo bumped against him affectionately , the day out leaving him rosy-cheeked and smiling, “But you'll never _win_.” he pointed out.

It was a good thing Bofur had never been afraid of being corny, or he might have been embarrassed to squeeze Bilbo's hand and lean in close to murmur, “I think I have.” and that would have been a shame, because he would have missed the way Bilbo blushed pink to the tips of his ears and squeezed his hand back.

Bofur helped Bilbo with building his container garden all over the house as much as he could, but he was mostly only helpful for carrying things up and down the stairs. The way Bilbo described it, it was as though the house were already covered in growing things – but to Bofur it just looked like dirt and a few leafless twigs in pots. They'd painted all the pots dark so they matched and would gather more warmth from the sun when it shone into the great cavern. They were a strong contrast, the dark pots against the bright white of the limewashed house, but Bofur was sure they would look better once the plants started growing.

He was sure they _would_ grow. He might argue with Bilbo about pipeweed, because Bilbo was _wrong_ , but he wouldn't argue with him about gardening.

If Bilbo said he could grow a garden in pots sitting on the roof and hanging down the front of a house in the great cavern of Nurgathol, then he _could_.

Bofur helped haul water up to the roof to water the plants and _waited_. It seemed to be taking a long time, but Bilbo didn't seem worried. A few small things sprouted, which was exciting, but Bilbo plucked them out immediately and called them weeds.

It took Bilbo days to get back to normal, but he was strong and resilient and he _did_ get there.

Lady Dis' judgment that Thorin had no hold on Bilbo was an enormous relief – Bofur could only imagine that it was even more so for Bilbo. It made it easier to get news of how things were in Nurgathol, without the heavy shadow of it hanging over him and making everyone suspicious of him.

Not everyone liked it, but the general consensus was that she wouldn't have moved against Thorin without reason. Thorin had been loved, but it was agreed that Lady Dis would not have ruled against him if he really _hadn't_ hurt Bilbo. She was cold in her grief, but no one had ever accused her of being anything but fair.

The news of Nurgathol was that people were waiting on Lady Dis. She had always held _so much_ loyalty, and her absolute refusal to deal with Erebor had people worried. King Dain had sent Bofur to see about helping people move to Erebor, but it seemed like most of the people willing to leave as things stood had already gone.

With Thorin's shadow no longer hanging over them, Bofur was even able bring Bilbo out drinking with him a time or two – being careful to make sure there were going to be plenty of good people who wouldn't treat him as a curiosity or ask painful questions. Bofur got Bilbo debating the qualities of various ales with a few of his friends – and later when everyone was suitably relaxed he got Bilbo to help him teach a few Hobbit songs.

Bilbo's inclusion in the group went over _very_ well.

When they stumbled home together – Bilbo's arm around Bofur's waist and Bofur's arm around snugly Bilbo's shoulders – they got distracted from going to bed by kissing. Bofur could lose himself in it now, in Bilbo's sweet hungry lips and the feel of him so soft and warm straddling his lap, without even that small lingering guilt that he was doing wrong.

He was enjoying it so much that he didn't realize Bilbo might be thinking of trying for more until that perfect hand had traveled down between them to knead at Bofur's erection through his clothes.

Bilbo moaned with him as his hips pressed up into it, having their own idea separate from his brain about whether or not it would be a good idea. He'd wanted the touch of that hand for _so long_ but he _couldn't_...

It would _not_ be a good idea. It really wouldn't. They were drunk, both of them. Bofur wouldn't risk being less-than-aware with Bilbo, especially their first time – he _couldn't_ risk hurting him – and it would break his heart if Bilbo regretted it when he was sober.

He caught Bilbo's hand to draw it away from what he desperately wanted it to touch.

“No?” Bilbo looked crestfallen, so Bofur had to kiss him softly to make him feel better.

“Not tonight.” he corrected, “Not _drunk_.” not a 'no', just a 'not yet'.

Soon though, soon he hoped. He'd wanted Bilbo _so badly_ for _so long_.

Bilbo pouted slightly but nodded, weaving his fingers through Bofur's braids to make a mess of them instead as he tipped Bofur's head back to kiss him.

“I _want_ you.” Bilbo whispered against his lips, and Bofur couldn't help whimpering at the heat in that declaration, coupled with the raw desire in the smoke sapphire eyes that were the most beautiful thing in the entire world. He _wanted_ to say yes, wanted it so much, but he wouldn't. He would wait until he saw that with Bilbo sober, even if it killed him – even if it _never_ happened.

“Bed time.” He said, picking Bilbo up to carry him the few steps to his bed and depositing him on it. He wasn't sure he would have been steady enough on his feet to carry him much further. Bilbo grinned up at him, sprawling out invitingly on the bed with his shirt halfway unbuttoned where Bofur had been kissing his neck, revealing pale soft skin, the front of his trousers unmistakeably tented. Bofur wanted nothing more than to unwrap him like a sweet and treat him much the same way.

“You're _strong_.” Bilbo said warmly, trying to catch Bofur's hand to pull him into bed with him, “Stay. Cuddle.”

“Not tonight.” Bofur said gently, squeezing Bilbo's hand and letting it go. It might start as a cuddle, but Bofur doubted his ability to keep it to just that – not while he was drunk, not while he wanted him so badly. Better to keep away.

He snuffed the little lamp out, and went to his own bed.

He wanted Bilbo _so_ badly. He could still feel the ghost of his hand squeezing his cock through his clothes – but after what had happened _last_ time he didn't really dare try to take care of it himself. Even if Bilbo couldn't see him in the dark, he could _hear_.

It felt like a long time before he calmed down enough to fall asleep.

Soon, he hoped... _soon_.


	23. resilience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was time for some smut.

Bilbo had been drunk the night before – not drunk enough not to know what he was doing, and _certainly_ not drunk enough not to remember it.

It was a touch embarrassing to have been so forward, and to have been turned down. Bofur _was_ probably right that it hadn't been the right time, but the thought of those few seconds when Bofur was moaning and pushing up into his hand, feeling the heat and hardness of him through his clothes...

Bilbo could feel the heat of a blush to the tips of his ears.

He wanted more of _that_.

Not _this morning_ though, he had a bit of a hangover headache – and seeing as Bofur had put his pillow over his face to block the light he probably felt the same. Bilbo quietly dressed himself and went downstairs – cursing the brightness of the limewashed walls in the morning sun – to find the strongest tea he could brew up.

It wasn't until after they'd had breakfast and Bofur helped him water the garden, and they were feeling alive enough to sit out on the balcony having a smoke surrounded by the pots that would soon be full of plants, that Bilbo brought the previous night up.

“I _do_ want to.” he said, blowing a smoke ring to try and cover his embarrassment, “If _you_ want to, of course. Last night wasn't the time for it, but I would like to try...”

Bofur smiled big, trying to blow a ring of his own but getting only a shapeless blob, his warm brown eyes sparkling with their corners all crinkled up with it.

“Aye, I'd like to.” he said warmly.

“Good.” Bilbo said, “So we'll just... um...” he wasn't sure how one went about _arranging_ to have sex.

“It'll happen when it happens.” Bofur said casually, his arm around Bilbo giving a light squeeze, “I've some errands to run today, so we'll see how we're feeling tonight?”

“Alright.” Bilbo smiled back, and leaned in for a smokey kiss. Bofur was warm and gentle, just a teasing little kiss with his hand cradling the back of Bilbo's head, his fingers playing in his curls as he flirted with his lips and tongue – drawing Bilbo out, making him chase what he wanted.

He was so _good_.

Bilbo _was_ nervous, just a little, but with Bofur he knew he didn't have to worry.

Bofur would take good care of him.

 

It hadn't been anything but a particularly _normal_ day, but knowing what he had planned with Bofur added a little sparkle of nervousness and anticipation to everything. It was downright embarrassing to feel himself start to blush every time their eyes met. The memory of the hard heat of Bofur's cock beneath his hand kept him blushing whenever he thought of that, too.

The day seemed to last forever, and then it was _over_ and Bilbo and Bofur were kissing in Bofur's room the way they might any night. Bilbo straddled Bofur's lap on Bofur's bed, the hat had already been tossed away somewhere so Bilbo could play with Bofur's rough braids. Bilbo gradually unbuttoned Bofur's shirt all the way, carding his fingers through the thick but soft hair that generously covered the Dwarf's chest and stomach before tugging on the shirt to remove it entirely. Bofur's hands left Bilbo's skin for a moment as he shrugged it off and threw it to the floor, returning them to under Bilbo's shirt as soon as he could.

Bilbo stroked the broad strength of Bofur's shoulders, the soft hairlessness of his sides which made him squirm ticklishly, the hard muscles across his chest down to the power of his core muscles with just a little softness over them. He didn't have nearly as much _squish_ as Bilbo did, but it was hard to feel selfconscious of his difference when Bofur was murmuring worshipful praises to everything he touched and everything Bilbo did.

Bilbo's shirt was half unbuttoned, Bofur busy with finding those places on the side of his neck that made Bilbo squirm with pleasure, delicious shivers of pleasure curling down his spine.

In a fit of either lust or bravery, or maybe a combination, Bilbo undid the rest of his own buttons and dropped his shirt to join Bofur's.

“Oh, Bilbo...” Bofur breathed, leaning back to look at him with his pupils wide. Bilbo wasn't sure what there was that was so attractive to look _at_. He didn't have the muscle and strength of a Dwarf – he was smaller and softer and rounder and paler and very nearly hairless – just a dusting of light hair in the middle of his chest.

Bofur's eyes said something different as they looked at him, wandering up and down, followed with gentle touches of his hands.

Bilbo tangled his fingers in Bofur's halfway-unbound braids, pulling him in close to kiss before he could become selfconscious about being looked at. The heat of Bofur's skin felt good against his, his hands stroking down Bilbo's back so wonderful against the slight coolness of the air before they wandered down to squeeze his arse.

Bofur was hard in his trousers, and for once he wasn't tucking himself away or moving back as Bilbo rubbed against him – just feeling the heat and hardness. Soon, maybe, he'd go there with his hands again. His stomach clenched in anticipation of that – hearing Bofur moan and feeling him push up against his touch – but first, he was remembering watching Bofur pleasure himself and he wondered...

Bilbo spread his hands across Bofur's chest again, but this time he did not skirt around the dark nipples with their little gleam of gold. Bofur had been rough on them but Bilbo kept his touch light, teasing them up into hard pebbles to roll beneath his fingertips.

Bofur groaned, eyes closing as he pressed into it, his grip on Bilbo tightening – and Bilbo laughed slightly at the heady power of being the one making Bofur react this way, giving him pleasure.

He lost all power of thought, though, when after a brief 'can I?' with his voice husky with pleasure, Bofur reciprocated.

 _Gentle_ , Bilbo had specified as he agreed, and Bofur _was,_ but it was still nearly too intense to bear. Bofur's thumbs circled wide around his nipples, spiraling in to the exquisitely sensitive tips and back out endlessly. Bilbo might have been embarrassed at how shamelessly he was moaning and squirming and grinding against Bofur, but he didn't have the presence of mind for anything but pleasure and trying to reciprocate.

“...beautiful...” Bofur murmured against his neck, nibbling down it, “beautiful” he murmured to his collarbone, kissing it.

“beautiful” he whispered to Bilbo's chest, sucking soft kisses across his pectoral toward a nipple.

Warm breath and lips on his chest, the rough scratch of stubble, arms squeezing around him tight – _too much like_ –

“No.” Bilbo was instinctively pushing away, and Bofur let him go immediately, leaning back away from him as Bilbo crossed his arms across his chest and _breathed_.

Bofur's eyes helped, warm and brown and worried, not at all burning hard and blue.

Bofur was _safe_.

“Sorry.” Bilbo managed, resettling himself on Bofur's lap as he relaxed from the brief instant of discomfort. “Just... no kissing?” he gestured to his chest region.

“I should have asked.” Bofur said, a little shamefacedly. Bilbo pulled him close to kiss him, not wanting to stop, not wanting to lose what they'd been sharing.

“I didn't know until I felt it.” He told him, lifting the Dwarf's hand back up to his chest, and Bofur smiled as he resumed those touches that turned Bilbo into squirming hungry _need_.

 

Bofur had been enjoying Bilbo, figuring out what they both liked. They'd been stroking each other through their trousers for a bit when Bilbo decided that it was time to take his off, and Bofur was driven nearly breathless.

Bilbo stood in front of him, completely naked, gray-blue eyes wide and his while body flushed with arousal and his own bravery. His beautiful pink little nipples were standing in tight peaks, ruddy from play, the softly rounded lines of his body leading down to a cock almost too pretty to be real, pink and porcelain standing out proudly from a little nest of honey-dark curls as though it were _made_ to make Bofur's mouth water.

“ _Look_ at you...” Bofur breathed, reaching for him, and Bilbo crawled back onto the bed, red to the tips of his ears, which Bofur kissed. He stroked down the Hobbit's lovely round belly, down the outside of his thigh and back up the inside, making him squirm beautifully but avoiding touching his erection or his stones.

“Can I suck you?” he whispered in Bilbo's ear, aching to hear a _yes._

Bilbo blinked at him, his fingers stopping where they were playing with Bofur's chest hair. “...what?” he asked.

“Can I suck your cock?” He repeated, licking his lips as he gazed at the pretty cock in question, just to make it absolutely clear what he wanted.

“Oh!” Bilbo flushed even redder around the ears, if at all possible, “Y-yes? I suppose we can try? I've never...”

“You've never?” Bofur didn't have to fake his surprise as he settled Bilbo so he was sitting comfortably and moved to between his legs – kissing his belly, which they had established was alright, as he moved down, briefly sticking his tongue in Bilbo's cute innie bellybutton to make him squeak ticklishly – stroking closer and closer to his cock with his hands.

“Who... could possibly...” he asked, interspersed with his kisses, “resist such a gorgeous... fat... little... cock?”

He stroked the cock in question once from root to tip before he slid his mouth down it all the way.

With a swirl of his tongue he pushed the foreskin back, teasing around the sensitive edges of his crown with the tip of his tongue. It was a perfect plump little mouthful, not too big to take all at once, warm and clean and smelling of a light musk grassier than a Dwarf's but not _too_ unfamiliar.

It was a cock _perfect_ for sucking, and by the way Bilbo whined Bofur's name with his hips arching up into it he seemed to agree.

Bilbo gasped at him as he began a leisurely bob, squeezing him tight between his lips and keeping his tongue busy. Bilbo's hands grabbed the pillows, the blankets, himself – as though he didn't know what to _do_ with them. Bofur took mercy on him and grabbed one of his hands, putting it on his head. Bilbo's fingers dug into his braids immediately, kneading at him, encouraging.

Bofur moaned to let him know that what he was doing was _good_ , and Bilbo's trembling gasp at the vibrations let him know that _he_ was also doing good.

Sooner than Bofur would have expected Bilbo's hand clenched in his hair, shoving Bofur's head down as his hips tipped up, which Bofur might have minded if he hadn't been perfectly sized not to choke him, or if he'd been strong enough to hold him against his will.

“Bofuuuuur!” he squealed, voice going high before it cut off and he spent hot and bittersweet into Bofur's mouth.

Bofur caught all of his seed and gently sucked his way off his gorgeous spent cock before swallowing it all down. There was maybe a slightly different aftertaste than a Dwarf would have, a touch sweeter, but seed was seed.

Bilbo gazed at him dazedly, pulling him in close, and Bofur arranged them so he way lying on his back with Bilbo cuddled up against his side, arm and leg thrown over him.

“I had _no idea_.” Bilbo purred, nuzzling against Bofur's bare chest with pleasure-drunk lazy warmth in his smoke sapphire eyes. He found Bofur's nipple with a small pleased sound and licked it gently, worrying at the gold bar through it with his tongue before sucking the whole thing into his mouth. Bofur groaned into it – his own neglected erection aching for attention. Bilbo shifted his leg down to cover it, rubbing his knee idly back and forth over it.

Bofur couldn't help his tiny disappointed groan as Bilbo released his nipple, “Give me a moment to recover...” Bilbo requested, rubbing his cheek affectionately against Bofur's chest hair, his eyes half-lidded and his motions still relaxed from pleasure, “then I'd like you to... to fuck me.” he was so flushed and relaxed he didn't even blush at the request.

“I can take care of myself, you don't have to... you already finished...” Bofur tried to assure him, his erection protesting a lost opportunity when he was _so_ ready. He hadn't expected they would _fuck_ yet, not so early in their learning of each other's bodies.

“I've had _one_.” Bilbo said, and his smile was starting to turn smug as he reached down to begin stroking Bofur's cock through his trousers, “I wouldn't mind a few _more._ ”

“You can...” Bofur's brain was having a hard time catching up with Bilbo's hand touching him.

“ _You_ have endurance.” Bilbo told him, nosing his way toward Bofur's other nipple, “I have _resilience_.” His grin told Bofur all he needed to know about which Bilbo found superior, but then his warm little hand had found its way inside Bofur's pants to wrap around him tight and the soft heat of his lips engulfed his nipple, and all Bofur could answer with was half-delirious praise.

He was _so_ glad he'd gotten that fresh vial of thick oil to stash in the bedstand.

 

Bilbo hadn't _intended_ to climax on Bofur's fingers. It's just... he hadn't expected Bofur to be so very thorough. It had always been very brief, _before_ , just to get a little oil on him and loosen him slightly in preparation.

Bofur used his fingers like they were the _point_ of sex. They'd been laying face-to-face, kissing as Bofur used his fingers inside Bilbo. He'd found a _place_ inside him, curving his fingers in to rub on it and melting all of Bilbo's insides like butter in the summer sun.

“Can you _finish_ like this?” Bofur had asked, just an instant before Bilbo answered him by doing so, to the surprise of them both.

He'd had to assure Bofur that he really _did_ wish to continue even after climaxing twice, and Bofur seemed more than thrilled to be convinced. His warm brown eyes – rich loam with hints of sage and flecks of sunlight caught in the depths – looked at Bilbo as though he were amazing, wonderful, beautiful.

Bofur's fingers stayed inside him while he recovered again, stretching him slick and full, and he stroked Bofur's cock while he waited to be ready.

It was a lovely cock with a touch of an upward curve, flushed darker than Bilbo's – nearly purple-red at the head – and as he'd known, bigger than his.

He wanted it.

He _wanted_ the aching-full stretch he'd not felt in so long – and he wanted it to be with _Bofur._

When he was ready Bofur worked even _more_ oil into him, until he was practically sloppy with it, and then gave Bilbo a generous amount of oil to slick his erection with.

But he didn't lift Bilbo's legs to his shoulders or flip him over with his face in the pillows to fuck him the way he'd expected. He rolled over on his back and lifted Bilbo to straddle him.

“At _your_ pace.” He said, smiling up at him.

It took Bilbo a moment to figure out the logistics of it, kneeling over Bofur, but soon he was holding the base of his slicked erection to steady it as he slowly rode himself down on it.

The intensity of the stretch had his toes curling, a high whimper escaping his mouth. He was more than grateful for Bofur's hands when they found his, slipping under his to hold tight, something to hold onto, that and Bofur's whispered litany of 'breathe' and 'relax' and 'go slow' and 'so perfect, so beautiful'.

Bilbo groaned as his hips met Bofur's, so stretched and so full with the heat of Bofur's cock filling him up – he could almost imagine he could feel the Dwarf's heartbeat through the connection of their bodies. He experimentally lifted slightly on his trembling legs and sank back down, fucking himself on Bofur's erection. It was very smooth, very slick, and so _so_ big like it would split him in half, and he couldn't help groaning as he tried it again.

and again.

Again, a little harder this time, and now that he was _aware_ of it he could feel Bofur's cock rubbing against the _place_ he'd called the sweet spot, the one that could make him climax.

Between that pressure and the intensity of the stretch he probably wasn't going to last long again. He squeezed Bofur's hands tight as he built up a pace, pushing against his hands for leverage as he fucked himself on him.

It wasn't until a groan from Bofur had Bilbo opening his eyes that he realized how he was pinning Bofur to the bed, restraining him with his hands above his head – suddenly remembering that conversation that seemed like half a lifetime ago.

- _I know what it's like to be pinned down_ -

“Are you alright?” He asked, “Is this...?” he tried to pull his hands away from Bofur, but the Dwarf caught them, held them tight. His entire body flexed, those powerful muscles that Bilbo admired so much playing across his body as he pushed himself deeper into Bilbo – making him gasp – gazing up at him with nothing but joy and wonder on his face, that smile like the sun shining behind his face.

“I'm _exactly_ where I want to be.”

“Do that _again..._ ” Bilbo requested in a moan, and Bofur laughed as he did. His thrusts upward were a perfect counterpoint to Bilbo's rise and fall, the strength of his arms perfect leverage for Bilbo to push against.

His eyes met Bofur's, nothing but joy and desire in the Dwarf's face, his mouth moaning nothing but 'so tight, so perfect, so beautiful' and other encouragement as they worked together for their pleasure.

Bilbo had climaxed twice more – spilling his increasingly small spendings across Bofur's stomach – before Bofur's endurance was finally spent and he grabbed Bilbo's hip to grind himself deep as he finished. He finished with his warm brown eyes open wide and Bilbo's name on his lips.

Bilbo collapsed to the side of Bofur on the little bed when they were done, giggling slightly. He _had_ bragged about his resilience, but four in such close sequence was pushing it. He wasn't a tween anymore! His poor stones felt hollow, and his thighs ached, and he just _knew_ that his arse was going to be tender now. It wasn't used to such treatment.

But worth it, all of it worth it.

His entire body felt as limp as an overboiled noodle, and Bofur laughed when Bilbo told him so. He was stroking his fingers through Bilbo's curls, watching him with sleepy-sated eyes and a soft smile.

“...have to clean up...” Bilbo tried halfheartedly. Bofur made agreeing sounds as he pulled him close to snuggle, and Bilbo melted into him with a happy sigh, relaxed and happy and so close and warm and satisfied.

Neither made any move to leave.


	24. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short fluffy chapter

Having sex agreed with Bilbo. Bofur woke up early to his tangled hair being petted, and when he opened his eyes it was to the most beautiful gray-blue eyes in the world sparkling at him and gentle nibbling kisses.

Bilbo _glowed_ , with rosy apples in his cheeks and a bounce in his step – even his curls seemed curlier. Bofur wasn't sure he'd ever seen someone so very _pleased_ with themselves and everything.

It was worth the wait.

They'd only barely managed to clean themselves up before they fell asleep, completely naked squished together in Bofur's bed, and one of the first things Bilbo said when he woke up was that they needed a bigger one.

Bofur had promised to push the beds together while Bilbo got dressed, tying his neckerchief with a flourish.

Bilbo was very happy and chatty, while Bofur was still a little sleepy – he was happy to lay in the blankets and admire. Bilbo was pleased that he was less sore than he'd thought he'd be, which did dampen Bofur's spirits just a little when he thought about it. It had _surprised_ Bilbo last night when he was gentle, when he was slow and gradual and focused on Bilbo's pleasure instead of going immediately for his own.

Bofur couldn't imagine being presented with someone like Bilbo and _not_ wanting to give him as much pleasure as possible. Four times he'd brought Bilbo off and he was already hopelessly addicted. He wanted to make Bilbo climax as many times as possible, as many ways as possible, for the rest of his life. Bofur wanted to hear the sounds he made, watch the way his eyes rolled back and his body shook, feel the clench and release of his muscles, taste his skin and his sweat and his seed...

“I'll get breakfast started.” Bilbo said, kissing him and heading for the door, then smiling and turning back to jump back on the bed with him to kiss again.

“I love you _so much_.” he whispered, eyes shining. Bofur laughed as he gently bumped foreheads with him.

“I love you too.” He answered, so happy it almost hurt.

 

Bilbo got _very excited_ after breakfast when they were watering the garden.

“Look at the peas!” he crowed, pointing out places where it looked like the dirt was cracking and lifting, “They're sprouting!” Bofur followed along behind him while Bilbo gushed about the peas and offered them encouragement as though they could understand.

“And look, the radishes!” This Bofur could see, a line of little two-leafed plants that had appeared overnight, “And the spinach!” The chives and parsley were sprouting too, and it was a very happy Hobbit who sat himself on Bofur's lap while they shared a morning smoke.

Bilbo laughed and nuzzled against Bofur's cheek, “You know, they say...” He blushed before he continued, “They _say_ making love in the garden makes the plants grow better.”

“Oh, aye?” Bofur asked, giving him a squeeze.

“...and the Shire's so green, with all the Hobbits living under the hills... and everything sprouted overnight...” Bilbo was laughing at himself even as he said it, and Bofur kissed his cheek.

“Don't know why Bombur and Mirra wouldn't have made them sprout, though.” Bofur pointed out. Bilbo's eyes went wide for a moment before he shook his head vigorously, eyes squeezed shut tight.

“No, I don't want to think about that! I refuse!” and Bofur couldn't help laughing at him.

“Maybe it only works for Hobbits. Hobbit magic.” he suggested, and Bilbo shoved him.

“Hobbit's don't _have_ any magic.” he defended, clapping his hands over Bofur's mouth before he could answer, eyes laughing, “You're going to say something _terrible_ , I can tell!”

So it wasn't really Bofur's fault if they ended up wrestling in the little balcony, pipes forgotten as Bilbo tried to cover Bofur's mouth and Bofur tried to whisper in Bilbo's ear 'magically beautiful' and 'magically resilient cock' and 'magically clever tongue' and 'magically perfect arse' until Bilbo finally managed to pin him down to kiss him.

It was just luck they'd managed not to knock any of the garden pots over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading Smoke Sapphire!   
> The story continues in the Smoke Sapphire - sides fic, which is very fluffy.   
> Dwalin and Nori's story is told in Shadow Agate.   
> Thanks again!   
> <3,   
> Ts


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